Walking across the street to the old building, I'm buzzing with adrenaline and excitement. I'd just seen the jeep pull up, park, and watched as Brian got out to enter the front door. I almost saw him too late, lost in thought and fantasies of what would happen when he came home and found the unlocked loft abandoned once again, and cringed behind the dumpsters just in time. I swear I have the attention-span of a gnat sometimes. But I don't think he saw me; at least he gave no indication. By the time the latch of the front door clicks shut behind me, my heart's pounding and even skips a beat when I hear a loud and resouding SLAM from upstairs. The door to the loft. It sounds like a slam when it closes normally because it's made of heavy steel, but this time it really does crash shut with a roar like thunder. And I know Brian's pissed.
I close the door much more quietly when I get in after taking the stairs. Brian is just standing there, shuffling through the mail he'd brought up, overcoat folded over his arm, and doesn't even seem to be aware of the fact that I'm there. I greet him hesitantly and shove my hands into the pockets of my sweatshirt so he won't notice they're trembling, like I just did.
He barely glances at me. His eyes are dark but his voice is calm as he answers me. "Hey, yourself."
I watch him toss the stack of envelopes on a table and my eyes follow him when he goes to hang up his coat, walks to the kitchen area, yanks open the fridge and takes out a bottle of water. I shuffle nervously when he looks right at me as he unscrews the cap.
"So are you just going to stand there?" he asks.
"I, um..."
"What?"
"I think...I forgot to lock up." Duh. Oh golly-gee-whiz. Imagine that.
This time it's the fridge door that slams after he replaces the water bottle, but both his expression and voice are completely neutral. "Yeah. I noticed something like that."
I still can't move. Instead I stare after him as he retreats into the bedroom. "Where are you going?"
"Out."
"But I thought -- "
"No."
I swallow. Okay.
*****
I wait. I putter around the loft. I watch television. I try to draw but I can't focus on it at all and give up. I wait. I wonder if I should just go to Babylon and see if he's there. I know he's there. I don't need anyone's permission to go to Babylon, right? And then? What a coincidence, fancy meeting you here. I picture his expression registering knowing disgust. Ditch the idea. Finally, after midnight, I give up and go to bed. And wait.
I wake up with a start when the loft door rumbles open and closed, more quietly this time. I don't know what time it is because I don't remember falling asleep. My heart starts thudding as he walks through the dark loft and up the stairs to the bedroom, and I remind myself it's only Brian. But not before I slide under the covers a couple of inches more, as if the soft material could hide me.
Brian undresses just as silently as I watch him. He stumbles slightly when he draws off his jeans, catching himself quickly on the edge of the bed, and I hear him whisper a curse, the only indication that he might have had a couple shots too many. But he doesn't seem to be in a bad mood. I don't know how I can tell, I just can. Vibes, I guess. He slides under the covers on his side of the bed almost soundlessly, moving slowly as if not wanting to jostle it and wake me up. Before he turns on his side, his eyes go to my face, though, and he sees that I'm awake.
He gives me a greeting that's half mumble, half grunt, and says, "Go back to sleep."
I don't say anything, just reach out and let my fingertips drift over the curve of his arm and down his shoulder blade, but he makes a complaining noise and kind of half-wriggles as if he were shaking off a pesky fly. I sigh and turn to lie on my back, knowing better than to push it when he's like that. I stare at the dark ceiling, listening to his breathing deepen and idly stroke my dick while I contemplate the door I'd left unlocked on purpose, the alarm disabled, and the consequences he'd threatened the other week if I forgot again. I know he hasn't forgotten those and I wonder why he hasn't said anything...done anything. I'm not sure what, just - anything. Anything he wants.
My cock gets hard under my fingertips, demanding my attention, and I give it a reassuring squeeze before I stroke it again, this time more purposefully. I close my eyes, remembering how it had been the other week, when he'd taken a belt to me before he fucked me, how the battered skin of my ass had scraped against the sheets, feeling sore as he pounded into me again and again. The marks on my skin the next day. In my mind, the memory intertwines with fantasy and I imagine what could have happened after I'd gotten home today and closed the loft door, shutting myself in alone with him. What if he really had been waiting there for me, waiting to punish me with a cane the way he'd threatened to do? Would I have let him? Yes, I would have, I think, and my breathing speeds up. What if he gave me no choice? I imagine him advancing on me, nailing me to the wall with his dark eyes before he grabs me and drags me into the loft. Ordering me to strip while he tells me what he's going to do. I bite my lip, stifling a moan. Maybe he would have pushed me down face-first on the table, holding me there forcibly with one hand while...oh God. I wonder what a cane would have felt like, how often he would have hit, how hard, forcing me to take it. I'm panting now, but I don't care, I just want to come. Would he have let me come if he'd fucked me? Maybe not...maybe he would have just left me, aching inside and out. Used me, pushed into me ruthlessly and fucked me hard while he pinned me down with one hand around the scruff of my neck, jarring me against the table with each brutal, deep thrust. I'm gasping, so close, both here and in my fantasy, tensing, my back arching and - oh God, Brian...
A hand clamps down on my wrist like a steel vise, stopping my hand on my dick, and almost my heart along with it. My eyes snap open and I gasp at the shock and unexpectedness of it, my dick throbbing in my motionless hand. Not now - God! Shit! Not now, just another second and I would've...
"You stop that right now," Brian says quietly. He pulls my hand away and I want to cry. Or scream in incredulous frustration. But he gazes down at me cooly, unmoved, as I stare back, panting and cringing, half embarrassed and half not caring. Wanting to come, wanting to whack off in front of him like a mindless animal and worry about embarrassment later. I pull against his grip, but he wrenches back even harder.
"No," he says. "I'll tie you down if I have to. Don't think I won't do it."
He stares at me a minute longer but I don't move. Finally, he lets go of my wrist and settles back, turning to face away from me again and yanking the blanket over his shoulder. I lie perfectly still, trying to ignore the pounding ache in my cock and the heat that's settled heavily in the pit of my belly. There's no way I'll sleep now; I can barely breathe. Consequences, he'd said. So this is how it starts? Holy shit.
*****
The following day I trudge back to the loft after my shift at the diner a little less confidently. I know Brian won't be home yet and anticipate waiting for him again, growing more agitated by the second. Not sure about what to expect and what not to expect, not knowing how to play this game his way. I am sure I probably should be confused, apprehensive - maybe even indignant and pissed. I'm actually none of those things as much as I'm electrified with suspense and incredibly turned on - still. Since last night, since this morning in the shower where he'd wrapped a warm, soap-slicked hand around my hard-on and started jerking me off. And stopped. Fucking stopped, abruptly, just at the point where I was leaning into him, my back pressing into his chest and stomach, melting into him. Letting him turn me into a quivering mess about to slide down him as if I were liquefying, turning into a puddle of goo at his feet, reaching back to clutch at his ass to keep myself upright. Stopped. And whispered to me in that soft but no-nonsense tone of voice to keep my hands off it, all day, except to take a piss. Take a piss? Was he kidding?
"Brian!" I sounded more like Michael than myself. I couldn't believe it.
"I mean it, Justin. Hands off!"
I keep my hands off it all day. Except to take a piss. Then I tell myself he wouldn't be able to tell if I jerked off or not - just once. How would he know? If he asked I could just...no. I've never lied to him. And what if I admitted it, would he be disappointed in me? I think of his dark, encompassing gaze on my face this morning, the hard edge to his voice, and I shiver. I fucking melt. I want to do as he says more than I want to do anything else, ever - and I don't question why something that's this damn uncomfortable is so fucking hot and alluring if he's the one imposing it.
The loft is quiet when I get in, only sparingly lit by three or four small table lamps that he keeps on whenever he knows he'll be in after dark. I push my shoes off with my toes and reach for the main light switch. Nothing happens. I flip it again two or three times but - nothing. Shit. I realize I don't even know where the fuse box is. Knowing Brian, it's hidden behind something unobtrusively decorative and artsy, so I decide to make do with the light there is until he gets here.
I sigh and go over to the couch, tossing my jacket over the back of it, and that's when I see it. Dangling from one of the exposed rafters, hanging about halfway to the floor. For a moment I'm frozen in place, staring, and when I make my way over to it, I'm not even aware of moving at all. I have to reach up to touch the end of it, a heavy steel link of chain that fills my cupped palm, attached to another and another, a whole row that disappears into the shadows hovering under the ceiling high overhead. I feel my skin prickle.
"Fuck," I whisper when I remember to breathe.
I almost jump out of my skin when I suddenly hear Brian's voice behind me. "You like it?"
I suck in my breath and spin around, the motion making the chain sway slightly, causing a soft creak on the wooden beam it's attached to. I'm suddenly hyper-aware of everything. "Jesus Christ, Brian! You scared me to death!"
He's leaning against the doorway to the bedroom in his usual state of undress, wearing nothing but faded jeans, the top button undone. Dark eyes watching me almost impassively, he tilts his head to the side, one finger absently tracing the rim of the glass tumbler in his other hand. Round and round, slow circles. I can't seem to tear my eyes away. He grins and drains the glass, the ice cubes knocking together sounding loud in the heavy silence. I watch him lick his lips and close my eyes for a second, taking a deep breath, my lungs feeling sluggish as they expand. When I open them again, he's heading toward me after a short detour to plunk the tumbler down on a table. I take a step back, but he's already there and pulls me against him, closing the distance between us completely. I'm not sure whether or not to look at him or touch him, so I do neither. I tilt my face closer to his throat, breathing in his scent, and it's warm and reassuring just as his body is warm and reassuring against my own. I feel myself relax against him, my body reacting to him of its own accord with no assistance from my brain at all. Even that clouds over when he brings his hands to my ass, pulling me tightly against him.
"You're hard," he observes, whispering in my ear. I feel his breath graze my neck, making me shiver with chills while at the same time heat floods my skin. I'm not sure if he expects a response, so I don't say anything, couldn't think of anything articulate right then anyway.
"Aren't you?" he asks. "For me?"
"Yes," I whisper. God, I can't stand this for much longer. I press against him, feeling his hands slide around my ass, fingertips rubbing light circles. I move my hands over the defined muscles of his back and my lips find his neck, nuzzling softly. I let the tip of my tongue graze his skin, tasting him. I'm dizzy with a rush of craving heat that constricts my throat and is so overwhelming it almost makes me nauseous.
"Did you behave yourself like I told you to today?"
"Yes." I'm actually relieved to be able to tell him that. Glad my answer doesn't stop his fingers kneading my ass or make him stop me from pushing against him. My whole body feels like it's pulsing against my skin from the inside; my dick so hard it almost aches, and I don't care that I'm rubbing against him like a horny dog, my tongue all but hanging out of my mouth. All I want is...
"You want me to fuck you?" he breathes.
"Yes." Yes, yes! God! Fuck, yes!
"You did as you were told and so you deserve a reward? Right?"
It takes a moment for it to register that this is a question. My brain is shutting down. All I can do is moan in agreement.
"You don't," he whispers. "And I won't give you one."
I freeze instantly, going rigid with disbelief. No way. No fucking way! I try to pull back but his arms are around me now and I can't move. "Brian..."
"You don't," he says in that same soft voice. "You see, Justin, all you've done is what I expect you to do when I tell you something. That's nothing I'm required to reward, it's simply what I can expect. Your obedience. Do you understand that concept?"
I feel like I'm paralyzed and might faint if he lets go of me. This is unreal.
"Because if we're going to play, Justin, you have to have some comprehension of the rules. You wanted to do this and I took you up on it. But you're not going to be the one in charge here. And you've been trying to be just that, isn't that right?"
I feel the blood rise into my face and I try to think of something to say to defend myself. Then I realize I'm nodding, just reacting and responding while my mind flounders in quicksand. His arms let go of their embrace and I feel his hands settle on my shoulders, turning me to face away from him. His arms slide around me again. I feel his hard cock against my backside and my own twitches in response when I suck in my breath. Closing my eyes, I settle into the warm, firm curve of his arms and the reassuring caress of his hands on my chest and stomach.
He's silent for a moment, then he whispers, "Open your eyes. Do you see that chain there? Can you guess what it's for?"
I stare at it, transfixed. I can guess what it's for, but I don't say anything. I feel his lips graze my ear and I shudder, biting my lip and staying silent, not moving. I can feel his hands with every nerve ending and even his soft voice seems to ripple over every inch of my skin like the surge and swell of warm waves, caressing and receding. Hypnotic.
"I'll tell you what I want, Justin. I want you naked and tied to that chain you see in front of you. Blindfolded. And I want to teach you a lesson. About submitting. About obedience. About the rules and about who's in charge here. And I want to punish you for pissing me off like you did yesterday, and teach you a lesson in that. And you won't like it one bit. Or..."
He trails off for a moment and the only sound I hear is my own blood buzzing in my ears. I can't take my eyes off the chain or stop my mind whirling out imaginings about what kind of lessons he has in mind. And at the same time, I'm so turned on I can't stand it, enveloped in his warmth and scent, feeling his hands on me over my clothes, roaming up and down. When he slides them up and I feel my nipples contract to hard points under his fingertips, I can't suppress a moan and my knees almost buckle.
"Or there's a second option," he says. "You see I won't force you to submit to what I want. If you don't give it up willingly, I don't want it. You can safeword out of this right now if you choose to do so. Then we'll forget any of this ever happened. It's your decision, Justin."
My mind isn't functioning, I don't even think I can say a word. I want - what? Everything. I gasp and jerk in his arms when his hands slide down, rubbing against my dick, almost coming right there. Fuck! I can't breathe.
"Do you want to come?" he whispers. I'm nodding vehemently but I stop abruptly when he asks, "Or do you want to face your punishment? Learn your place? Which will it be? What do you need more, Justin? Are you in or out?"
I want out, I think to myself - fuck me! I want to come. I want to tear off his clothes with my teeth. I want to feel him all around me and inside me, fucking me right there on the floor, hard, violating. Because he can, and I want him to - I want him to want me, to have every bit of me in his possession and control, and then some. But most of all I want --
"In," I find myself whispering, before my mind can even process it entirely. "I'm in."
I feel his smile against the back of my neck and it makes me shiver. "That's what I thought."
*****
I've never felt so vulnerable - never. My hands are tied together with a length of braided cotton rope, raised above my head and fastened securely to the chain dangling from the rafters. Even though I'm dressed, I feel exposed and bare, unable to shield myself and virtually defenseless. I'm more conscious of my breathing in this position than I'd imagined, and especially with my eyes covered and unable to see anything, the feeling is vaguely claustrophobic. I listen intently and hear Brian just behind me, but even without any sound I'd be aware of him, as if my skin were hyper-alert, picking up the warmth radiating from his body, every tiny shift and current in the air. And there's his hand, in the curve of my back; I can feel his touch right down to my bare toes, and he hasn't taken it away since he blindfolded me. Still, I jump a little at the sound of his voice when he says my name.
"Justin," he says. "Tell me why you think you're here, tied up like this."
I start to answer but my breath just huffs out when I feel him move closer, behind me, reaching around my waist to unsnap the button on my pants. My stomach muscles quiver under the sweep of his thumbs.
"Hmm?" he prompts. A finger lifts the tab of my zipper, undoing the catch, and I feel it move down, torturously slow. Every tooth that separates and opens seems to vibrate on my cock, making it strain even more against the thin material of my underwear.
"Because I left the loft unlocked?" I answer. I grit my teeth.
Brian laughs softly. "Don't be silly."
He draws my pants down in one motion, pulling them completely away after I heed the gentle tug that signals me to step out of them. I feel his fingertips trail around my waist as he comes to stand in front of me, close enough so that I feel my nostrils flutter, catching his scent. The back of his fingers slide down my stomach in a smooth caress, and I moan softly when they move over my dick, my own fingers wrapping tightly around the section of rope between my hands and the bottom link of the chain. I feel my toes dig against the hardwood floor, and he doesn't stop until I'm gasping. Leaking. So hard it hurts.
"No," he says quietly. "No, that's not the reason. You thought you could manipulate me, didn't you? But all you did was piss me off. You didn't forget to lock up; you didn't even just disobey. You disobeyed with a purpose, trying to get me to do what you want. Isn't that so?"
"Yes," I whisper. I think I'd admit anything.
"Leaving my loft open wasn't the way to get me to give you what you want."
I don't say anything - don't know what to say.
"What is it that you want, Justin? And what's foremost on your mind, what you want, or I want you to do? Which seems like the better option?"
"I ... I'm, uhh --" I falter, knowing whatever I say, I'll end up tripping all over myself.
"Let me show you something," he says. I feel a thumb caress my ear under the blindfold, and a brief touch of something cold against the lobe, followed by a snap right next to my face. The sound of a switchblade springing open is unmistakable, and I flinch, cringing away from the sound. My heart starts to thud crazily.
"Brian..." I whisper. I'm absolutely sure he wouldn't - would he? Hurt me?
"Don't move," he says softly. "I don't want you to move even a fraction of an inch. Understand?"
I find myself nodding almost imperceptibly, hardly daring to breathe, my fingers cramping around the rope. I shiver as I feel him lift the hem of my t-shirt. A soft tug on the material travels up my torso like a rippling wave, and there's a crisp tearing sound; I realize he's using the razor-sharp blade to undress me, cutting the rest of my clothing right off my body. First my t-shirt and then my underwear, lifting the elastic waistband up and slicing through the sides before he pulls them away, leaving me completely naked and exposed. I don't move, not even when I feel the blunt side of the blade graze over a nipple, the touch of the cold metal making it contract and stand out. Then, I hear the blade retreat with another snap and breathe a sigh of relief that turns into a moan when he caresses the hard nipple with warm fingertips.
"You see, Justin? You do as I say and you'll be fine. You don't, and you'll get hurt. It really is that simple."
I feel his hand trail down my stomach again, and suddenly his fingertips on the head of my dick, just grazing it slowly, tormenting. Oh God. I'm grabbing at the rope again, my head falling back, gasping. I arch my back, desperate for him to touch me, beyond caring if it's obvious, but he takes his fingers away after a moment.
"Brian..." my voice sounds gravelly, pleading. I don't care.
He laughs softly. "Oh no, no, no..."
I bite my lip, trying not to burst into tears of frustration like some silly schoolgirl. I sense him behind me now, his fingertips still on my skin, trailing up and down my back, moving in slow circles over my ass and making me shiver as a rash of goose bumps breaks out under his light touch. It's the very same way he touched me last time, just before the belt bit into my skin, and I tense instinctively, not knowing what was coming, half expecting the same line of fire to come cracking down across my ass.
"Did you want me to punish you, Justin?" His tone is soft, almost neutral.
"Yes," I confess, embarrassed that it sounds almost like a whimper. I don't know how I can dread something and want it so much at the same time. I can't think.
"Do you think punishment should be a reward?"
My head drops forward and I sigh. "No."
"You're right, it shouldn't be. It shouldn't be pleasurable. It shouldn't be something you seek out; rather, it should be something you want to avoid."
He's quiet for a moment, his hand moving over my back slowly, almost contemplatively, before he continues.
"You have to understand something, you see. You don't call the shots here. That means you don't manipulate with willful disobedience to get your way, assuming you'll be punished when you want and in the way you want it. That's not submission, that's just a devious mind-fuck. You also think you're complying with what I want by orchestrating something that'll cause you to be disciplined, but that's not true. Punishment happens when you've displeased me, and if I'm displeased with you, then you should be too. In fact, displeasing me should be the strongest deterrent, not the punishment itself, even if it's meant to function as one. Because you can safeword out of a thrashing if there's an emergency; you can't safeword out of my displeasure, though. My disappointment in you. You do understand what I'm saying, don't you?"
I draw a breath and start to answer, but before I can get a word out, another voice answers Brian. "Yes, Sir."
My head snaps up and I gasp - there's someone here with us! I fight a sudden rush of adrenaline, but it's too much - the shock of surprise, the humiliation of being exposed like this, not only naked but turned inside out. Heat floods my face and it isn't until Brian's bracing grasp on my upper arms stops me that I realize I've been wrenching at my bonds.
"Don't. Don't panic," he says quietly. I let my face fall forward again, my chin grazing my chest as I take shaky breaths through my mouth. The blindfold sticks to my skin where it's dampened with sweat and I squeeze my eyes shut behind it.
"Justin," Brian says after a while. I huff a sigh, but it's enough to let him know I hear him. "Justin, I'm going to take the blindfold off now."
I feel his fingers at the rope around my hands and hope for a dizzying moment that he'll untie me, but then I realize he's only checking to see if I'd pulled it tighter by struggling against it. It feels okay though, and apparently it is, because he tugs at the knot in the length of black silk covering my eyes and it falls free, letting the air of the loft cool the damp skin it was covering.
I open my eyes and suck in my breath, startled, blinking and then blinking again, not sure I'm seeing right.
"Justin, meet Elijah," Brian says conversationally. I'm aware that I'm staring at this Elijah-person, who's naked and kneeling on the bare floor a distance away from and in front of me, but I don't care if I'm being rude. I don't even really think about that at all, I'm just...surprised. A little shocked, though I think I shouldn't be. He seems to be about my own age, and from what I can guess from his position on the floor, about my height too, though he's a little more slender in build. Otherwise, it's kind of like looking into a distorted mirror, because he looks so much like me, we could be siblings. He raises his chin, exposing a thin silver collar around his neck, and his eyes meet my own briefly. They're dark, not blue like mine, but still the resemblance is uncanny. A slight smile hushes across his features before he lowers his gaze again, looking stoically at the patch of floor in front of him.
I jump a little, startled, when Brian says, "Come over here, Elijah."
Brian's holding out one hand, crooking a finger at the boy in a "come here" gesture, and when he rises to his feet in one fluid motion and walks over, Brian points to the space right in front of me, stopping him there, just inches away from me. He keeps his eyes lowered, but I can see them flit back and forth nervously; he's not sure where to look, and I'm mortified that I'm still hard, wishing I could will it away.
Brian's hands settle on my waist, and I feel him nestle the tip of his nose against my hair, just behind my ear. His voice is soft. "Actually, Justin, I was looking forward to getting home yesterday. Because I figured you'd be there, and I was intending to have some fun with you. Fuck you...play with you..." his fingertips trace patterns on my stomach and chest, pause to play with my nipples, and I feel my breath stutter. I want to close my eyes, but I can't stop staring at Elijah right in front of me. I blink, brushing my face against one of my raised arms, trying to wipe away beads of perspiration. It's all beginning to feel completely surreal to me, like realizing you're dreaming.
Then, I listen because Brian's talking to me again. "But when I got home, I discovered the little stunt you'd pulled and knew your intention behind it. You pissed me off. And so I had to change my plans and went out, instead of staying in and being with you. You'd made that impossible for me, Justin. Wouldn't you agree?"
"Yes," I whisper. The response seems automatic to me; it comes without thinking.
Brian's hands leave me and I watch him step over to stand behind Elijah, watch as he starts to caress Elijah's skin instead, and it's almost like I can still feel it on my body. I watch the two of them, entranced, watch Elijah's eyes drift closed as he leans back slightly, molding himself to Brian.
"Isn't he something?" Brian asks. "He looks just like you, doesn't he? He even has your great ass, see?" Brian barely touches Elijah's shoulder and the boy immediately turns, presenting his backside to me. It's as if Brian can direct him with just a fingertip and he follows, like a trained animal. Brian's eyes stay on me over Elijah's shoulder, caressing the supple ass right in my line of vision almost possessively.
"And so I figured," Brian says, "there's no reason, just because you fucked up, I should miss out on having fun or anything else for that matter. Since -- "
He breaks off and my eyes widen in surprise when his hand cracks down - hard. I suck in my breath when I hear Elijah's startled gasp, and he presses his face and the palms of his hands flat against Brian's chest. Again, Brian swats Elijah on the ass, punctuating his words with sharp thwacks, making me cringe a little each time.
"Since there seems to be --"
Thwack!
"-- no shortage out there --"
Thwack!
"-- of blond boy ass --"
Thwack!
"-- willing to play rough."
Thwack!
"You get it?" Brian narrows his eyes at me, letting his hands roam over Elijah's ass again, stroking over the areas he's just slapped. Elijah's making soft sounds, his face pushed against Brian's neck, but otherwise he stays motionless. I feel a bead of perspiration trickle down my temple, swallow nervously, and close my eyes.
"Justin," Brian says sharply and my eyes snap open again, widening in something that's almost alarm when Brian eases Elijah back a little and tilts his face up with a finger under his chin, turning him slightly at the same time, so that they're both at half-profile in my line of vision. For a minute I think Brian's going to kiss him.
"I'd watch carefully if I were you, Justin," Brian says. He's talking to me, but his eyes are on Elijah's face, keeping it raised toward his own with one hand, his thumb gently stroking the smooth jawline. "Just in case I intend for you to write down every single thing that happens tonight when this is over. So you'd better pay attention or you might miss some of the details."
I take a deep breath, not really wanting to watch - but not wanting to tear my eyes away from them either. I should be jealous, I think, watching Elijah's expression, but I'm not; I'm envious. Not only because I'd rather be in his place in Brian's arms, but because his eyes watch Brian's face with a rapt attention that makes me realize I've never seen anyone as focused as he is. Every ounce of his attention seems to be fixed on Brian, as if nothing else existed. It's like I'm not even there. It makes me wonder if anyone ever thought I looked at Brian that way when they see us together. It makes me wonder if I ever could.
So I do watch, carefully...I do pay attention, and I don't miss a detail. I've seen Brian with tricks before, that's nothing new, but this is different, and watching them, I realize I've never seen anything that's as hot as this. Never. I feel the tug of the rope and hear the chain clink softly as I shift slightly, but it seems far away. I think my arms will probably ache later, but the thought is gone before it even registers. I think about leaving the door unlocked on purpose and I realize Brian is right; it seems more like a move in a silly game than what I really want - it's not even the surface of or related to what I really want. Worse, I suddenly know it's the antithesis of it...I want what I see taking place between Brian and Elijah in front of me, and even more than that. And I can't have it; I'm immobilized, restrained, on the outside looking in. I suddenly realize how fitting the lesson Brian's teaching me is, for taking control after we'd established the control would be his. Now he's shown me what I really wanted, taken it and given it to somebody else. And all I can do is watch, needing what I can't have. I wonder if I'll ever have it, and the possibility that I won't makes me come undone.
I watch Elijah's dark lashes drop as he lowers his gaze, see his lips part as Brian sweeps a thumb over them and then into his mouth, making him suck at it softly, and I almost forget to breathe. His gaze sweeps over Brian's face again, as if on some imperceptible cue, and he gives Brian's thumb a last lick before he glides down to drop to his knees. I watch, breathless and aching, while he pops open the buttons on Brian's jeans and lowers them while his tongue sweeps over the head of Brian's dick. He lets it rest against his lips for a moment. Finally he grasps it and lets his mouth slide down the hard shaft and then up again, his eyes closed, moaning softly as if he'd gladly do this for the rest of his life, and there was nothing else he'd rather do. And I believe him.
Brian's eyes drift closed for a moment and he slides his hands into Elijah's hair. When he opens them again, he fixes his gaze right on me, catches my eyes, watches me watch the scene, and I feel a thrill shoot past my thudding heart right to the base of my spine. I try to tear my eyes away, but I can't, he holds them with his own and won't let go. He blinks slowly and his hands tighten in Elijah's hair as he moves his hips, first slowly and then faster when the boy's hands reach around to grasp his ass and shove him forward, fucking his face. Brian seems to hold me captive in his stare; I can't look away. And then, unexpectedly, I feel something give and I don't try. I accept it and I know he knows and I don't care. I don't care that I'm shivering and I don't care that I'm naked and bound and exposed in just about every way possible, I accept it for what it is, and if it's what he wants right now, I want him to have it. And he can.
He keeps watching me for a long while, until Elijah lowers himself slightly and tilts his face upward, swallowing him whole. Brian throws his head back, groaning, and I know from the tension in his posture and the way he clutches at Elijah's hair that he's about to come. And then he does, gasping and drooping forward, shoving his cock down the boy's throat so hard I'd think it was brutal if I hadn't taken it myself so often, and knew what it was like. But I still can't look and close my eyes, because I wish it was me.
When I open my eyes again, Brian's buttoning up, still breathing heavily, and Elijah kneels silently on the floor with his eyes lowered, just as he'd been when I first saw him. The only difference is that he's flushed and dissheveled, otherwise he's composed and his expression is imperturbable, as if nothing out of the ordinary had transpired at all.
Brian regards him for a moment. "You can get up. Get dressed."
He gets to his feet with the same fluid grace he displayed earlier and heads toward the bedroom, giving me a sidelong glance on his way out that's unreadable; the only indication that I'm not invisible. While he's gone, Brian goes to the kitchen counter and I see him write something down on a piece of paper. I hear the characteristic swoop of the pen when he signs his name, then he folds it and seals it in an envelope, just as I hear the thump-thump of Elijah's footsteps as he comes back down from the bedroom, fully dressed. Brian holds out the envelope to him as he approaches and he accepts it with a slight smile.
"That's a commendation," Brian says, ruffling Elijah's hair briefly. "You know who it's for. You did well and you can leave now."
"Okay, thank you, Sir," Elijah says, and his smile widens into a grin. When he turns and leaves the loft, sliding the door shut behind him, there's a definite spring in his step.
I feel a sick sense of trepidation when Brian finally turns back to me and comes to stand in front of me. I don't know what to expect and can barely bring myself to look at him. When he reaches out and brushes strands of damp hair out of my eyes and combs them back with his fingers, I suddenly, unexpectedly, start to cry. I'm not even sure why, exactly, it's like I'm filled with a pressure that pushes them out, and at the same time I've never felt so empty, almost lost.
Brian keeps his hand tangled in my hair and leans his forehead against mine. "Shhh...Justin. Tell me. Did you learn something from all of this?"
I squeeze my eyes shut and a sob escapes before I can stop it. I'm just so relieved he's focused on me again. "Yes."
"Will you ever try to manipulate me again?"
"No," I say, shaking my head. "No, no."
"Will you ever pull stunts like leaving my loft open again?"
"No."
"And do you understand what punishment means now?"
"Yes." I'm crying and I can't stop it. I know he's letting me back, and it's elating and devastating at the same time, just as the whipping with his belt was last week, and yet so different. It hurts and I don't like the pain, but I know I crave what it instills in
and reveals to me, and I need everything that comes with it. I don't know why and it doesn't matter; it's too much a part of me to question. It just is. I feel him tug at the knots in the rope and can't stand the seconds it takes to get my hands free. I need him.
Finally it's off and he lets it drop into a twisted heap at his feet; I might have gone down with it if I didn't wrap my arms around his neck and he wasn't holding me upright, close against him.
"I'm sorry, Brian," I whisper. "I am."
His hands stroke my back. "Forget it, it's over with now."
He pushes me back gently and his eyes seem to search my face as he swipes my tears away with both thumbs. I don't know what he's thinking or what he sees there, but he pulls me close again and kisses me as I open up to him, and he searches my mouth with his tongue, fills up empty spaces with his warm breath.
"I want to fuck you," he whispers against my mouth, and I think for a second I might pass out cold, but somehow I manage to follow him to the bedroom, so wobbly that it feels like floating.
He kisses me again and again, and even while he's stripping off his jeans, I just keep kissing him - his stomach, his chest, any part of him that I can reach with my mouth, touch with my hands. He drops to the mattress beside me, but I'm already scooting down to swallow his cock before he's even settled, and he gasps my name, arching his back. He pushes into my mouth, three, four times, then pulls me off him and up to kiss me again. I know I'm moaning, sucking his tongue into my mouth greedily, but everything is muted and all I hear is blood pounding in my ears. I don't even hear him tear the foil wrapper, I just know he's away from me for the moment it takes him to roll on a condom. Then he's back, kissing me again, and I feel as if he'd been gone for an unbearable amount of time.
I feel him nudge my legs apart with his knees, his breath hot against my neck. Slick fingers slide into me, probing, and I grab at his arms and press my face against his shoulder, aware that I'm moaning his name and how desperate I sound. But I don't care. Then it's his cock pushing into me, and his tongue into my mouth. I wrap my legs around his hips, using them to pull him into me as far as I can, as fast as I can, and it still doesn't seem like enough. But he knows; he fucks me hard and fast, driving in deep, both arms wrapped around me tightly, and I know he's all around me and inside me, has me completely and I'm his.
I know I'm going to come, and I'm desperate to come, but I try to hold off because I don't want it to end, either. But my grip on any control slips more and more, every time he slams into me, and I know it's impossible. He shifts position slightly to thrust more shallowly and upwards, more nudging than pounding like before, but it's so much more intense. The feeling crosses the boundary between physical and emotional and seems to consume me completely, so much that I almost beg him to stop, it's almost too much.
"Come," he whispers, breathing the word into my mouth. And I do, curling in on myself with the intensity of it, sobbing against his neck as wave after wave of tension pulses out of me and the world goes grey around the edges. It leaves me weak and exhausted, trembling and breathless. Brian's still inside me, still hard, not moving. He's covering my face with soft kisses, caressing me and whispering to me, and when I catch my breath he kisses me deeply again. I wrap my legs around his so he won't pull back, I want him to stay inside me and he does.
After a while I feel him move inside me again, our bodies sliding together easily, slowly, just barely moving together. I feel myself getting hard again as he kisses me and his hands stroke my skin, but there's no frenzy to come this time, just drifting on sensation and content pleasure, enveloped in him. There's no other place I want to be again, and nothing else I'd rather be doing than this. And we're entwined in wordless agreement, taking our time as if we had forever. And we do.