I slide my hands up to the band that runs around the back of his head, keeping that hateful mask in place, and I push it up and off. He gives a little sigh as I do, and I feel him reach up to rub at his eyes.
“They’re cool, the masks,” he whispers, “but they can get a bit much. You know?”
“Oh, I know.” I stare as hard as I can into the darkness, but his face remains a mystery to me, his features undefinable. I lean in to nuzzle at his neck. He smells of the sweet, woody soap supplied in every bathroom here, and I wish so much for a moment that I could smell him in his natural environment that my hands tighten on his shoulders.
What soap does he prefer himself? Who is he in his own home? Where does he live, for that matter, and what is this inconvenientjobhe has that demands so much of his time?
I run a hand up his neck, feeling his pulse throb under my touch. It’s regular but fast, quite fast.Moderato.
“My lord—” he begins, but I trail my fingers up his jaw and lay them on his lips.
“For tonight, Oliver—unless you object—I’d like you to call me Elliot.”
My other hand is still on his throat, and I feel him swallow. “Elliot,” he whispers. “I definitely don’t object.”
“I have been told…” I begin, but then I pause. My other hand skims over his face, trying to memorize it, to see it through the sense of touch rather than sight.
“Yes, my—Elliot?”
I lean in and brush my lips across his cheek, come close to his ear. “I’ve been told, sometimes, that I approach things the wrong way around. That I should be stricter in bed and more forgiving out of it. But I find, personally, that the bedroom is the one place I can tolerate a little insolence.” Oliver shivers, and I pull him close, my arm in the small of his back. “Are you cold?”
“N-no,” he murmurs. “Definitely not cold.”
He would be lying if he said he was; his skin under my palm is still warm from the comfort of his bed. Against my thigh, I can feel his cock pressing into me, hard and hot. His pulse has increased, thrumming against my hand on his throat.Allegro.
I keep him pressed close against me with one arm, and with my other hand now I capture his face, my fingers pressing into his cheeks gently, a reminder of our respective roles. “I’ve wanted to kiss you thoroughly since the first moment I saw you,” I tell him, and I’m rewarded with a moan. “I wish I could see your face, but this…this is almost as good.” He slumps a little in my arms, and I hike him up, closer, letting my own hard length rub against his.
I want him to know that I’m just as excited.
And then I kiss him. Slowly at first, letting my tongue drag over his soft lips, pulling back when they fall open and try to hurry me inside. But I want to take my time and savor the moment, savorOliver, who should not be a man that I want, but…
I have not gone one waking moment here where Oliver has not been in my thoughts. Even during my work, in my deepest flow state, when the music is so loud in my ears that everything else dies away, Oliver is still, somehow,there.
I’m not certain how it’s happened; on paper, and indeed, in practice, he should not be a match for me. He is untrained, untested, too relaxed…
But he has captured me, completely.
His tongue tries to break the deadlock, and I finally let it, let him slide into my mouth and explore, wrapping my arms tight around him. It’s been so long since I’ve held a man like this. It’s unfamiliar but feels…soperfect.
Every noise he makes, I catalog; I try different kisses just to find out what makes him gasp, hum, moan. When he begs for more, he strikes a tone so perfectly pleading that I make a mental note to try to replicate it on the piano tomorrow.
But he’s right. We’ve kissed for a very long time, and I’m curious to hear the songs I can pull out of him by other means.
He reaches out, running his hands over my chest, but I grab his wrists and push them behind his back, making him moan.
“No touching until I say.”
“I thought you weren’t so bossy during sex?” he pants.
“You completely misunderstood, dear heart. I said I am moreforgivingduring sex. But please, feel free to fight back. I’ll enjoy it.” He lets out anewnoise then, a groan that depletes into a whimper, and I listen with interest as it fades away. Rather than wrestle against my hold, he slumps into me.
“How am I supposed to struggle when Iwantyou so much?” he whispers. “I’ve beendyingfor you to fuck me.”
“Oh, dear,” I murmur. “That dirty mouth of yours, Oliver. Perhaps it’s time to put it to better use. On your knees.”
He hits the floor so hard I fear for his kneecaps, and then I forget all about them a second later, when his eager mouth finds my cock. I reach out instinctively, grabbing for something, anything, and find the bedpost. But I know he hears my gasp because he gives a chuckle of acknowledgment.
I place my hand at the back of his head and push him down further, listening to him gag a little until he tries to pull off. I let him. “I see there’s alittlefight in you after all.”
