Title: Intervention
Author: linaerys
Pairing: Keith/Anderson
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1000
Warnings: There's some rope involved.
Summary: Keith has been covering one story a little too much lately.
Disclaimer: THIS IS TOTALLY FICTIONAL

“Consider this an intervention,” says Anderson. Keith tries to move his hands and his feet and succeeds in wiggling them a little, but not far enough to make him think that escape will be easy.

“Shouldn’t an intervention involve, I don’t know, more than one person?” he asks instead. Logic, yes, logic will be his weapon.

“I don’t think Jon and Stephen wanted to see this, but we all agreed it needed to be done,” says Anderson. He sits down on the bed next to Keith, close enough that Keith can shift so they are sort of touching, his side against the soft cotton of Anderson’s shorts. Yes, it’s shameless, but he can’t afford a lot of shame trussed up like this. Anderson is pointedly not touching him, and it’s driving Keith crazy.

“So, what, what? You have me tied up here like this, and I was expecting something a little more fun than you pacing around and frowning at me.”

He should have known better. Anderson came to see him soon after landing from one of his latest trips, when usually he let Keith call. He was all kisses and grins that didn’t sit quite right, but Keith put that down to the nervousness from getting off of a long trip and maybe, maybe nervousness at seeing him.

Not that Keith was ever nervous about seeing Anderson. No, the grin didn’t stick, and kept on threatening to slide right off and be replaced with the Serious Anderson Frown.

Still, Keith let himself be persuaded to the bed, persuaded to Boy Scout knots in Kevlar rope around his ankles and wrists because of the Grin and the Frown. And now he’s undressed and Anderson is still wearing one of his ridiculously well-fitted polo shirts and looking like he might be about to conduct an interview, for crying out loud, instead of like he just tied up a man.

Who knows, maybe this is how Anderson gets some of his better interviews. Keith is about to say something to that effect when Anderson says instead, “Even Jon and Stephen aren’t covering it, but you, it’s like the Paris Hilton channel over there on MSNBC.”

“I don’t have editorial say on—.”

“I don’t think it’s your turn to talk just yet.” Anderson frowns prettily. “Jon, Stephen and I, we’re concerned. You promised! On national radio, you promised . . .”

“You listened to The Big Show? You listen to me when you’re out of the country?” asks Keith before he can stop himself. Oh, this is embarrassing.

Anderson shakes his head sadly. “You promised, and then you talked about breaking your promise on Countdown. I would have thought you’d feel a little shame.”

“I’m naked,” says Keith. “I’m feeling some shame. Not much, mind you, but some.”

“No, not nearly enough. Your promise is going to stick this time.”

“Come on, Andy.” He never calls Anderson Andy, but this seems like a good time to try it out. Anderson’s frown deepens a little at that, but he doesn’t look back up at Keith’s face. Maybe it wasn’t the right time. “Come on, I’m not as young as you. This might not be healthy.”

Anderson looks at him, slightly amused, and Keith starts to get hard. “I haven’t even touched you yet,” says Anderson, as if reading his thoughts.

“Don’t I get a safe word?” asks Keith. “I’ve heard, I mean I’ve read that people get a safe word in these situations.” He’s babbling now, on the verge of hysterical laughter.

Anderson taps his forefinger against his lips. Keith thinks about the last time he saw those lips, wrapped perfectly around him during the pre-trip blowjob, and then Anderson’s little disappearing act after.

“Why yes, yes you do,” says Anderson. “Your safe word is, ‘I’m going to stop covering Paris Hilton.’ Say that and freedom is yours.”

“I’m going to stop covering Paris Hilton,” says Keith.

Anderson wraps his fingers around Keith’s cock, and the touch is almost painful on his too-sensitive skin. God, now every time he hears the name Paris Hilton, he’s going to imagine this: Anderson watching him carefully, looking for the lie. “You have to mean it.”

Keith makes pleading eyes. “I do, I swear.”

Anderson starts stroking him, touch a little too light, and Keith can tell he’s doing it on purpose. “Say it again,” he says.

“I’m going to stop covering Paris Hilton,” says Keith.

Anderson climbs on top of him, straddling his legs, and now Keith can see that he’s turned on himself, the front of his khaki shorts tented out. “You’re enjoying this,” says Keith accusingly, but spoils his tone with a gasp.

“Shouldn’t I be?” Anderson raises one eyebrow.

“It’s not . . .” Not right he wants to say, and little disturbing, but way too hot. Not that he’s going to let this happen again, but it will make a wicked little memory. Anderson suddenly stops what he’s doing and leans over Keith, his chest inches away, to pull at the knots around Keith’s wrist.

“What are you doing?”

“You said the safe word,” says Anderson. “I’m untying you. I’m a man of my word.”

“Aren’t you going to . . . finish first?”

Anderson sits back up. “I suppose,” he says, and this time the grin is impish and perfect, plastered all over his face. He scoots back, and barely gets his lips around Keith’s cock, before Keith is coming and holding onto the back of Anderson’s head with his one free hand.

“Do you think this would work on you to keep you from going to Vietnam without taking your malarone?” asks Keith as Anderson is untying the rest of his limbs. He notices now that his hands and feet have gone numb.

“No.”

“Why not?” ask Keith as he starts tugging Anderson’s shirt out of his waistband.

“I’m smart enough not to let you tie me up.”

“You calling me stupid?”

Anderson tilts his head to one side and shrugs slightly. “It’s okay,” he says with a widening grin. “At least you’re hot.”