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AHS Season 1-point-5 - Hook	By : leaftheweed Category: 1 through F > American Horror Story Views: 3504 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own American Horror Story or any of the characters in it. I do not work for the show nor do I write for it. The idea and characters are property of their creative owners. No money/profit is made off this fictional work.

Chapter List
- 1-AHS Season 1-point-5 - Hook
- 1
This short originally appeared as a portion of the larger fanfic, American Horror Story - Season 1.5 - Episode 7. It got so many hits I thought I'd share it around. If you want to know what happened before and after, you'll have to check my Profile for my FanFic link.

Chad was on edge since this was his first children's engagement, and a supernatural children's party at that. His skills as a host were about to be tested like they never had been before. So Tate and Patrick headed upstairs where the chess board was and where they were both less likely to do something to set Chad into whirlwind bitch mode.
They entered Tate's room where he headed for the bookshelf. The chessboard was stored on the top shelf but when he reached for it Pat caught his wrist, stopping him.
"Age up," he said to Tate's quizzical look. "I've got something for you."
Tate did as he was told but the statement didn't cure his confusion. "But... The party's in a few hours. What, is it something I can't open in front of everybody?"
Patrick smiled. "Something like that. Come here."
Tate followed him over to the bed where the bigger man pulled him in close and kissed him. The teen had expected something gift-wrapped but he decided he was okay with what he got. There was none of the weird driving urgency like last time - just a lingering kiss and a caress. Then Patrick tugged on his shirt.
"Get undressed," he said then he crouched down and fished about under the bed.
Puzzled all over again by his odd behavior, Tate shook his head. "Oookay."
He shed his shirt and kicked off his shoes. Patrick pulled a case out from under the bed - the big black one from the shed.
"Hey," said Tate as he finished stripping. "I remember that." Then he wrinkled his nose, unimpressed. "That's my present?"
"I didn't say it was your present."
Pat set the case down on the bed and opened the latches. Tate leaned in, curious. He'd wondered about the case back when they'd dug it up out of the shed but he'd forgotten it. Patrick pulled back the velvety interior lining but the contents beneath meant nothing to Tate.
"What is it?" he asked.
"Give me your hand," said Patrick.
Tate put out the one with the little red thumb's up tattoo on it. Pat took his hand and took one of the black leather things from the case on and put it around Tate's wrist. It covered his hand from the knuckle of the thumb down past the wrist joint, leaving the fingers free. When it was buckled on, his hand felt heavy.
"What is it?" he asked again, hefting his arm experimentally. "A boxing glove? Where's the front?"
Patrick belted other one onto Tate's other hand. "They're not really gloves," he said. "They're restraints."
"Like the kind they put on crazy people?" said Tate, looking at the restraints more closely. They were surprisingly comfortable given how severe they looked. He grinned crookedly. "Did Doctor Harmon give them to you?"
"They're not that kind," said Pat. "These are... special."
He took both cuffs and brought them together. A single push snapped a heavy gauge clasp into place, locking the restraints to each other with no room to spare. He tugged on them to show Tate how they held tight. They didn't budge. Then he took the last loose belt and buckled them together.
"These would be cool to attach a machine gun to," Tate said approvingly. He experimentally tried pulling his arms apart himself but the cuffs were as one.
Patrick pulled a short length of chain from the case. Then he closed the box and set it on the floor. "How would you reload it?"
"Oh." Tate said, watching him snap the chain onto another sturdy clasp affixed to the front of one of the restraints. "I guess I'd have to carry a backpack of ammo and feed it from that. What're we doing?"
Patrick got to his feet and reeled in the chain. He gave him another kiss, deeper and longer. When the kiss broke he said, "It's time for your birthday spanking."
Tate blinked a few times in hurt surprise. Tears sprung up in instant defense. "What? Why?"
"Shh," said Patrick, stroking his smooth, bare back. "I'm not punishing you."
"But--" Tate couldn't help the tears. They wouldn't turn off. He was too confused by the mixed messages he was getting.
"Trust me."
And he did, even though he didn't like it. Patrick helped him up onto the bed and positioned him at the head, facing the headboard. Then Pat pulled the chain up where he slipped one of the links over that hook in the wall. There was very little slack in the chain; it forced Tate's arms high up over his head. He quickly found the position wasn't uncomfortable, though, if he knelt up. He lifted his head so he could see the hook.
"You put that there?"
Patrick moved around behind him. "Hm? Yeah."
Tate almost had a thought about that but then Pat was right up against his back, warm skin on skin. It felt so very good. He shut his eyes for a moment and leaned back against the bigger man as much as the restraints would allow. The feel of flesh against his kept the blood in his thoughts far away. Instead of gore there was electricity in the blackness.
The body behind him pressed closer. Firm but gentle hands petted and caressed. Light kisses trailed along the curve of his shoulder muscle, raising gooseflesh and eliciting a soft sigh from him that hitched when Patrick gave him a light smack on the ass. Tate's eyes flew open and he glanced back but Pat was already stroking the area gently, both soothing the faint prickle and making the young man aware of how much more sensitive the spot had become.
Patrick kissed his other shoulder. He reached around and stroked Tate's cock a few times - just enough for him to get into it then Pat gave his backside another smack. It was another not-really-painful swat that he immediately pet better. Then he stroked the teen's dick some more. And it went like that, intensity building slowly but steadily. Every now and again Pat would rub up, grinding his erection against Tate's sensitized skin. The swats got sharper but the sting only promised more delight. By the time he reached orgasm Tate could hardly distinguish the difference between the pain and the pleasure.
Patrick stroked him through the spasms then moved away from him. Tate just hung there, dazed, letting the chain and cuffs hold him up. It was kind of nice not having to support himself at all. Then he felt the bed shift and Pat was behind him again, sliding a lubed finger up inside him. He groaned, low and needy, instantly hungry for more. Patrick responded with a light bite on his earlobe and two more fingers. And then the fingers were gone, replaced with the man's slick, hard cock.
Pat took him from behind, moving with deliberate measure. But as Patrick's pleasure grew so did his need for contact. He loved to kiss and he couldn't do that in the position they were. He broke away only long enough to turn his trussed partner around with a quick twist of the chain. Then with the help of that chain, he lifted Tate by the hips and penetrated him again. He smothered the boy's rough moan with a sloppy kiss and moved right back into a fluid, deep rhythm.
Before long they were both lost in delirious passion's throes. Tate came again and the sensation sent Pat over the edge, hard. He put a hand on the wall to brace himself so he wouldn't collapse with the intensity of the rush. He had no chains of his own to keep him steady. When he could see again, he went in for another kiss.
"Happy Birthday," he murmured afterward.
Tate giggled drunkenly. Patrick patted his blushing backside and pulled out. Then he set to releasing the teen. Once he was free Pat put the restraints and chain away again. Tate lazed about till the case was shut once more then he scooted over to the edge of the bed.
"Was that my present?" he asked, dimples showing with the hint of a smile. "Or do I get something I can unwrap at the party too?"
"You don't want a spanking at the party?" Pat said with false naiveté.
"No! God, no!"
Patrick laughed and pushed the case back under the bed. "But think of the show it'd give your guests." He righted himself in time to catch Tate's dirty look full on. "Relax. Chad's got your present covered."
"You're mean," Tate decided, then scooted mostly into his lap. Which was awkward since Tate was still teen-sized. "You should be nice to me on my birthday. It might be my only one."
"I am being nice," said Pat, putting his arms around him. "If I was being mean, I'd have left you chained to the wall."
For that he got a full-on raspberry.
"Come on," he said, wiping spit off his neck. "Let's get dressed. I don't know how long a cake takes to make but it's been a while."
"I want to try the frosting," said Tate as he went in search of clothes.
"You'll have some later," Patrick said. "You're not pestering Chad and you're not touching anything he's made." There was a hint of serious in his tone.
Tate had to pull his shirt down over his head to deliver a proper sulk. "I just want a little frosting."
Pat glanced up as he tugged his sweatpants on. "No," he said firmly. There was no fun in his words at all anymore. "We're going to go play chess and stay out of trouble." He eyed Tate for a moment then relented, tone softening a bit. "It's just one afternoon, Tate. You can do it."
Tate didn't want to do it. But he grudgingly went along with Patrick's plan after a stop by the bathroom to clean up, age down, get dressed and fix his hair. And while it wasn't as good as frosting, it wasn't exactly a bad time either, playing chess.
...
- 1
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AHS Season 1-point-5 - Hook