Chapter 14
Adonis
Unfortunately, before Adonis could attend the “class in patience” Bash had planned for him (he was very excited about it), he had to participate in a coaching session with Damien Zelinski.
Damien and Anamária Costa went back years. Adonis had never met the guy until Minneapolis, when he’d sat through a dreadful dinner with his mother and Damien, who spent most of the dinner getting wine drunk and laughing with his mother.
Anamária was convinced that Damien was the key to getting Adonis into shape for selection to Team USA.
Adonis was open to coaching from Damien, especially if that was what his mother wanted, but he didn’t like the man.
He’d left a bad first impression on Adonis, and the research he’d done on Damien after the dinner hadn’t given him more confidence.
From what he’d found online and on social media, Damien was based in Montreal with his husband.
His husband was a gallery owner who regularly showcased queer artists.
He seemed far calmer than Damien, whose social media posts showed him regularly scantily clad at clubs, raves, and circuit parties.
There was nothing wrong with that, at all (Adonis enjoyed a club and rave personally, and had tried out and liked a circuit party in Florida during his spring break of last year).
However, Damien, who was in his mid-forties, regularly posted pictures of himself with young men surrounding him.
They seemed, at the oldest, to be twenty-five.
More of them were likely Adonis’s age, or maybe as young as eighteen or nineteen.
They gathered around Damien like limpets on a shark.
That, combined with the hungry looks Damien had given Adonis when Anamária wasn’t watching, made Adonis uneasy.
He knew that he appealed to a particular type of older man.
Sometimes, he didn’t mind that. He had been fucked by several men old enough to be his father (not that he knew how old his father actually was—Anamária refused to talk about him, except that it had been a one-night stand and there was likely some family in India).
He had often enjoyed those encounters. Many of the men were drawn to him, though, for reasons he didn’t like.
Adonis was submissive, yes, but he wasn’t submissive because he liked to be controlled or owned. Some guys liked that—that was fine. Adonis wasn’t about to yuck anyone’s consensual yum.
Though he wasn’t sure exactly how to articulate it, Adonis had always felt like he got some power from being submissive. Knowing that he was the tool men could use to bring themselves pleasure—that was powerful. He liked it.
He did not like it when men saw him as an object, rather than a tool. There was a difference. A subtle one, to be sure, but it was there.
The difference, Adonis decided, was respect. There wasn’t respect in the way Damien looked at the boys in his photos. It was possession. Or, at least, a desire for possession. That was how he’d looked at Adonis, too.
And Adonis was not something to possess.
——
Damien was a short, wiry man with overly tanned skin, a reconstructed hairline, and a Botoxed face that always made him look moderately sedated, even when he was passionately giving instructions to Adonis during the practice session.
He wore all black: a turtleneck, slim pants, and matching figure skates. He circled Adonis while he skated. He was like a vulture, Adonis decided. His incessant cawing of instructions and advice made Adonis want to pop the blade off one of his skates and toss it at the man.
Unfortunately, Damien knew what he was doing. He had been a stunningly good skater, with an uncanny ability to see what another skater was doing. His instructions were demanding, but precise.
If it had just been demanding and precise, Adonis would’ve been fine.
But Damien also liked to show Adonis.
“Like this,” Damien said after providing instructions on an axel, and proceeded to fail spectacularly in executing it. Once a great skater, not always a great skater.
“You get the idea,” Damien said.
“I think so,” Adonis said. He was trying not to laugh. He had the feeling Damien wouldn’t appreciate being laughed at.
“I’ll show you,” Damien said. Before Adonis could say that there was no need, Damien skated over to him, placed one hand on Adonis’s shoulder and the other on his hip (unnecessary), and said, “When you take off, push the movement from this hip.” He pushed to demonstrate.
Adonis slipped out of his grasp. “Got it,” he said.
The next time he executed the axel, he made sure it was perfect.
——
“I just—oh fuck—I’m not sure what—Jesus Christ—what Anamária wants me to—fuck—get out of it.” Adonis barely managed to get a word out between gasps. He was in his apartment, tied to a chair with scarves. He was completely naked.
Bash, for the last thirty minutes, had been teasing Adonis’s cock, working him to the brink of an orgasm and then slowing down. The lesson in patience had turned out to be an edging session, and Adonis was both enjoying it and about to fall apart.
“Shh,” Bash said, squeezing Adonis’s balls just a bit. He was kneeling between Adonis’s spread legs. He, too, was fully naked. “You’re thinking too hard. Just focus on this.”
“I’m trying to not focus on this, so that I don’t cum,” Adonis gasped.
Bash’s strokes sped up again, once more bringing Adonis to the brink. “Oh my god,” he gasped, and when Bash released his cock, Adonis whimpered. “Please,” he begged, “I’m ready to cum.”
Bash shook his head. He was obviously enjoying himself as much as Adonis was. “Not yet. Not until I’m ready.”
“Yes, sir,” Adonis gasped.
“Good,” Bash said, flicking Adonis’s cock. Adonis whimpered. “You’re doing such a good job being patient,” Bash continued. “But you’ll have to wait a little bit longer.”
Adonis whimpered again.
Bash stood and stretched. God, his naked body was perfect. He lazily stroked his cock a few times. Adonis leaned forward as best he could while still tied to the chair, his mouth open.
“Ah, not yet,” Bash said. He reached into the bag he had brought and pulled out a bottle of massage oil. Adonis squirmed in the chair as Bash squirted oil into his hands, rubbed them together to warm it, then moved behind him.
Adonis shuddered when Bash’s oiled hands touched his shoulders. Slowly, Bash began to rub down Adonis’s chest and stomach, gently but firmly massaging his muscles. He played with Adonis’s nipples, squeezing them until they were hard.
Adonis moaned. “Please,” he begged. “Please.”
Bash tsked. “Not yet.”
Again, he knelt in front of Adonis and started working on his cock again. Long, slow strokes, swirling the fingers of one hand around the head of Adonis’s cock while he inserted the middle finger of his other hand into Adonis’s hole.
“Oh, fuck,” Adonis gasped, as Bash began to finger him. He was breathing heavily, his body slick with oil and sweat. Bash’s fingered him steadily, his every jab hitting his prostate and making his cock harder. So hard it almost hurt.
“What do you want?” Bash asked firmly.
“To cum,” Adonis moaned.
Bash smiled. “Not right now. With Damien and your mother.”
“I don’t want to talk about my mother while you’re stroking my cock.”
“Then, with figure skating. Do you want to be in the Olympics?” The speed of his finger in Adonis’s ass quickened, and Adonis arched his back, squirming in his ties, ready to orgasm.
“Yes,” he panted. “I do.”
Bash squeezed Adonis’s balls. “Because you want to, or because others want you to?”
“Because—” Another whimper as Bash gently played with the head of his cock. “Because I want to.”
Bash reached back into his bag and produced a massage gun. Adonis, already sweating, felt his body temperature practically double. Bash returned to him, turned the massage gun onto a low setting, and gently touched it to Adonis’s cock.
“Oh fuck,” Adonis moaned as Bash used the massage gun on him like a vibrator against his cock. “I’m gonna cum.”
“No, you’re not,” Bash said darkly, taking the massage gun away. “Not until I say you’re ready.”
“Please, please, I’m ready,” Adonis said as Bash touched the massage gun to his hole. “I want to—” All ability to speak left him when Bash took the tip of his cock in his mouth, swirling his tongue around his head. “Jesus.”
He was sure he was about to cum in Bash’s mouth, but Bash stopped sucking him just in time. “God, you’re so cute when you’re out of control,” Bash murmured.
Out of control, Adonis thought, a moment of lucidity in the fog of almost-orgasm. What did Anamária always say? What had Damien repeated? What had cost him some points in the Cranberry Cup?
Control.
He was too controlled on the ice. He needed to let go.
Bash’s strokes quickened on Adonis’s cock. “You ready, baby?”
“Fuck yes,” Adonis gasped.
It was time for him to learn to lose control.
“Good boy,” Bash said. His strokes were frantic, and he slipped a finger back in Adonis’s ass. “Cum for me, baby.”
With that, Adonis lost control. His body convulsed, his muscles twitched, and an orgasm overtook him. He came across his stomach and chest, cum shooting from his cock as he tipped his head back, gasping and trying not to cry out.
Bash didn’t stop stroking until Adonis was positively wilted in the chair.
“Perfect,” Bash whispered. “Absolutely perfect.” He kissed Adonis’s semi-hard cock, licking away the string of cum that clung to it.
“What about you?” Adonis asked when he could finally speak again. “Are you gonna cum?”
Bash began to untie the scarves that bound Adonis to the chair. “No,” he said simply. “I’m very patient.”