“Yeah,” he said, staring around the golden room Noah had brought for him. “It’s pretty fucking great.”
When Noah came into the studio an hour later, Benji had cleaned most of the floor.
“Hey, Mr. CEO,” Benji called, dumping the coffee mugs back on the ground and marching up to throw his arms around him.
“Mr. Soon-To-Be-Stern,” Noah replied. He kissed Benji softly, then leaned back to nod at the painting. “Did she like it?”
“She did,” Benji said, unable to stop himself from grinning. “But that’s not what I brought you here to show you.”
Noah’s gaze lingered on the canvas with obvious interest before he replied. “Oh?”
“Yeah,” Benji said. “Oh.”
He pulled Noah’s hand, leading him to a blank canvas he’d laid out on the newly cleaned floor. There was a tarp spread around it and a pot of gold paint sitting at the top.
Noah’s lips twitched. He tore his eyes away from the painting to ask, “Are you painting me again?”
“Nope.” Benji waited for the anticipation to stretch, Noah’s eyes going eager and dark, before kicking out and tipping over the gold pot of paint.
They both watched the paint pool over the canvas, dripping onto the tarp.
“You’re going to fuck me on that,” Benji announced.
Noah’s lips curled up properly, looking the kind of proud that he always felt when Benji said something he wanted in the bedroom. Then his smile straightened out, going back to the calm, cool dom persona.
“You better have brought lube,” he said. “I love that paint on your skin, but I’m not putting it inside you.”
Benji pulled a packet of lube out of his pocket. He never went anywhere without one nowadays.
“Good boy,” Noah said, before he went for Benji’s belt. “Still wearing your cage?”
“You haven’t told me to take it off,” Benji said. “So, no.”
He tried to be sarcastic about it, but he couldn’t help the giddy joy in his voice. The wedding was next week. He’d almost made it a wholemonthwithout coming. He’d never felt success like this, bone-deep and glowing.
Noah reached into Benji’s boxers and cupped the cage. His eyes got hot and soft and possessive.
“Are you sure?” Noah asked.
Benji snorted. “What are you trying to do, catch me out on the last stretch?”
“No,” Noah said, amused. “I’m only wondering if you want to wait to have sex.”
Benji had considered that, in the beginning. Noah had even stopped coming onto him so much in that first week, all too aware of what Benji couldn’t have. But Benji wanted it. He wanted Noah inside him, wanted the closeness and satisfaction of it, even if he couldn’t get hard.
“I don’t want to push you more than you can take,” Noah continued.
Benji bit his lip. Even with the continuous deprivation turning everything up to eleven, he still doubted whether he could make it.
He took off his shirt wordlessly, then his pants and shoes. He stood naked in his messy studio as gold paint dripped off the canvas on the floor beside him.
“I can still take it,” Benji promised. “That’s what you said, right? You’d give it to me until I couldn’t take it. So,giveit to me.”
Noah’s eyes went half-lidded. He stepped forward, and Benji realized with a thrill that he wasn’t even going to take his clothes off. He was going to fuck Benji in his nice work suit and get gold all over his knees.
“Daddy,” Benji added. It still felt stupid and vulnerable when he wasn’t actively out of his mind with lust, but the heated look Noah gave him made it worth it.
“Until you can’t take it,” Noah repeated. “Right?”
