s*x in C Major

Chapter 7-2

They were sitting outside when Stefan arrived.

He lingered in the entrance to Trinity Walk, watching for a moment where Daz was unlikely to notice. It was freezing, a couple of buskers shivering out songs, but Daz and Boyfriend were sat outside in heavy coats and hats anyway, clutching cups of steaming coffee in gloved hands. Boyfriend was poring over a heavy book on the table, and Daz appeared to be watching one of the buskers…and yet they were obviously together. Boyfriend had slung his legs over Daz’s lap, and Daz was absently stroking the side of his knee. They looked…peaceful. Calm. Casually affectionate.

And Stefan felt…oddly jealous.

He shook himself, trying to get rid of the thought. He knew his place. He wasn’t after a partner, he was after an owner. Daz wasn’t supposed to stroke Stefan’s knee. He was supposed to slap it.

Stefan hunched his shoulders and struck out, striding across the street like he owned the place and walking past the table like he’d no interest whatsoever in the good-looking guy sitting there with another man’s legs in his lap. Instead, he swept into the heat of the shop, bought the cheapest thing they sold, and found an empty seat.

Then he put the phone on the table, and waited.

He didn’t dare look out of the windows, in case Daz thought he was watching them. But he itched to do anyway. He felt…obvious. Like everyone had to know what he was doing. Who bought a cheap tea, sat alone, and then did nothing? Didn’t play on their mobile, or read a paper? Who did that? He was obviously waiting for something, for someone, but without looking out of the windows…

The phone buzzed.

Finish your drink. Go to the toilet. The far one. Strip and get on your knees. You have exactly eight minutes. Safeword is checkmate.

Stefan took a shaky breath—and abandoned the tea. f**k the drink. He didn’t want it anyway.

The toilets were downstairs, two unisex bathrooms. He had to wait for the far one. He was already breathing too hard when he let himself into it and locked the door. His hands were shaking as he stripped. He hesitated over the binder, but that eventually went, too, Stefan closing his eyes so he didn’t have to look at what was under it. The bathroom was cold, and the tiles under his knees dirty and too hard. But he didn’t dare kneel on his coat—Daz hadn’t said he could.

Then…he waited.

And waited.

And waited.

There was no clock, but he could imagine the ticking. His heart was pounding. All the blood in his body was trying to crowd into his d**k, but he didn’t dare touch himself. Daz would know if he did. Somehow. And he’d not said Stefan could do that. He’d—

Knuckles rapped on the door.

Stefan held his breath. How—how did he know if—

“Hey? Anybody in there?”

Daz’s voice. Stefan shuffled forward on his knees and reached up to release the lock. He crawled back barely in time to avoid being hit in the face by the door.

“Get on with it, then.”

Stefan swallowed. “Sir?”

Daz gestured at his jeans. “You wanted d**k. Get it out.”

Stefan hesitated, then reached up. Daz was wearing a belt, and Stefan fumbled awkwardly with it. The zip was stiff, and he had to tug the denim down a little to cup the soft weight hidden in Daz’s briefs.

“Get it out, don’t fondle it.”

“Yes, Sir.”

The briefs had no opening, and Stefan had to pull those down, too. Then he stared. Daz’s c**k was soft, shorter than Stefan had thought but thicker, too. It was hot and silky when he touched it, and swelled under his fingers like it was alive when he wrapped a hand around it and began to stroke clumsily.

“Hands on my knees.”

“What?”

Daz pulled his hair sharply.

“S-sorry. Sorry, Sir.”

“Hands. On my knees.”

Stefan hesitantly clasped his hands on the outsides of Daz’s knees—then gasped as his head was wrenched by the hair again, jerked forward until his lips kissed the half-hard c**k in front of him.

“Get on with it.”

Carefully, Stefan opened his mouth and slid his lips down over the head. He could smell s*x and sweat and Daz. Breathing was suddenly this wet, awkward thing, and he strained to fill his lungs through his nose. Saliva was pooling at the back of his mouth—but when he tried to swallow, his tongue rasped against the intrusion and he coughed.

“Never sucked someone off before?”

Stefan pulled back, lifting a hand to wipe at his lips—and choked, coughing again, when Daz’s hand caught at the back of his neck and that now-rigid d**k was shoved hard against the back of his mouth.

“I say when you get to stop, not you.”

Stefan whimpered, hands fisting in Daz’s jeans. He could feel spit leaking out over his lips and chin. The hot silk in his mouth was overwhelming. His jaw was straining, and tears were blurring his vision. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t—

“Key part of sucking someone off is in the name. Suck.”

Stefan raked a breath in through his nose, and struggled to close his lips. The shaft was burning hot, a pulse hammering against his mouth. He could feel a vein against his lower lip, and tried to concentrate on that. Something bitter lingered at the back of his tongue, but the skin itself was sweeter. Slowly, he drew back to the head, dragging his lips along Daz’s c**k as if to clean it off, then pushed forward.

“Better.”

This—this was okay. He could do this. He repeated the action again, then a third time, and curled his fingers against Daz’s knees. This was good. This felt good.

Until he tried to draw back again, and the hand on his neck stopped him. And pushed. Further. Stefan choked as the head hit the back of his throat, his stomach turning alarmingly for a brief moment. His nose was pushed against Daz’s skin, that c**k forcing his throat open, so deep Stefan couldn’t do anything but breathe in tiny, desperate bursts. Then his hair was held in a tight fist and Daz was thrusting into his mouth.

“I haven’t time for a stage performance,” Daz muttered. “You can practice later.”

The thrusting hurt. That c**k was too big, too hard. Stefan’s lips felt bruised, and his jaw hurt from being stretched so wide. He wanted to fight, to lash out, to reject the intruder—but he wanted to relax, to submit, to do well.

But it was too difficult. Daz’s thrusts were deep. The head of his c**k grazed Stefan’s throat with every thrust. Stefan’s lips couldn’t close; he tried to squeeze his jaw tighter without biting, and had his hair savagely twisted. He clutched at the denim, trying to slow the movement, but Daz was too tall and Stefan stretched too high on his knees to counteract him.

Then both hands were at Stefan’s neck, and his head was pushed as far down onto that c**k as it could go, taking it to the root, the shaft throbbing and like silk-wrapped steel in his throat—

Stefan choked, coughing. He hacked as hot liquid burned in his throat and stomach and lungs. It spilled out in thick streams over his chin and bare knees, dripping to the floor.

Then he was shoved away, his head batted to the side like it meant nothing. He crumpled to the cold, dirty tiles, raking in air past the c*m in his throat.

“You’ll need to learn to do a lot better than that,” Daz said, ripping toilet roll out of the holder and wiping off his d**k.

“Y-yes, Sir.”

“Next time, I expect you to swallow it all.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Be grateful I don’t make you lick it off the tiles.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Open up.”

Stefan was dragged back to his knees by the hair, and the soiled tissue shoved between his teeth.

Then he froze.

Those bright blue eyes were staring at him critically, from only inches away. Stefan sagged in Daz’s grip, spellbound. There were galaxies in those eyes. Entire oceans and worlds. It was like staring into the abyss—and the abyss stared right back, daring Stefan to jump. Daring him to find himself there.

“What do you say?”

“Thank you, Sir,” Stefan whispered around the tissue, his own voice sounding so very far away.

“Good.”

Daz patted his cheek, almost affectionately, then tucked himself into his jeans, unlocked the door, and walked out.

For the longest time, Stefan simply knelt there, c*m cooling on his skin, mouth swelling from its punishing use. He didn’t care. All he could see was the abyss in those blue, blue eyes, and all he could feel was the burn of pleasure and contentment in his veins.

He didn’t even think to lock the bathroom door.