Chapter 4
Peter is in way over his head and is aware, somewhere in the very back of his brain, that this is most likely a mistake and he is hurtling headfirst into disaster, and yet he's almost positive he doesn't care.
Sebastian growls and ravages his neck again. Which might be the best thing he's ever fucking felt.
"Sebastian—" he gasps but doesn't have a plan on how to finish that sentence. "Oh, yes," he whispers as glittering sharpness pours through him. He humps against Sebastian, hips working like he's an animal, rutting furiously.
"Fuck, you're a slut for it. I like that. I love that," Sebastian snarls and shoves his hand down the back of Peter's pants. Peter cries out as two fingers press against his dry hole. "Lube, baby?"
"I don't have any," Peter says roughly.
"You're kidding."
"No, I… no."
"Get off me. Jesus. Get your pants down. I'll be back," he says and shoves at Peter.
Peter rolls off him, and Sebastian gets to his feet, adjusts himself, and leaves, heading back down the stairs. Peter touches his neck, the indentations of teeth, relishes the sting, and then gets up, looking in the mirror. It will be purple soon. Bruised up by his… whatever Sebastian is.
Nothing as sweet as a lover.
He undoes his pants and toes off his shoes.
He yanks off his socks and shucks his pants, underwear, and shirt, trying to think as little as possible.
His whole life has just been obliterated.
The last five years of his life have been for nothing.
He's been in the closet, living a puritanical life as the required payment for having his job, and now he's thirty-five and has to start all over again.
Can't he have one experience with a sexually aggressive, gorgeous young man?
Is it really so inappropriate when he's the one about to get fucked?
"Oh my god. He's going to fuck the hell out of me," Peter says just as Sebastian comes back up the stairs with a bottle of olive oil.
“Is that… will that work?” Peter asks. He’s almost positive oil is not safe to use with condoms.
“Do you care?”
“I should,” he says. But, he doesn’t know what his decision will be if this is the only option. He’s willing to take the risk.
“Oil is bad with latex. My condom is polyurethane which is fine.”
Peter is in over his head.
"Fuck. Look at you." Sebastian ogles him and takes off his own shirt. "Get a towel. This is gonna be a mess. You want to get fucked in your bed?"
"Yeah," he says, staring at Sebastian's chest. He's a lot more muscular than Peter would have thought. A smattering of chest hair, his stomach defined but not like Peter's. Softer with youth.
He's horribly beautiful. Peter won’t be saying no to this. He wants it too badly. They both do.
Peter goes to get a towel and comes back. Sebastian's shoes and socks are off, and he's undoing his pants. He shoves his pants and underwear down, sits on the bed to take them off, and Peter stares hungrily at his cock.
He's big and long. Peter isn't small. He's slightly above average. Alas, the rest of him is broad and muscular enough that he always thinks his cock looks a little too small.
It doesn't draw the eye like Sebastian's does.
"Jesus, you're so fucking pretty," Sebastian says, looking Peter over. "How much time do you spend in the gym? No wonder this country is going to hell. I could fuck those tits."
The crudeness of it, how willing Sebastian is to say anything he thinks, makes Peter feel crazed with lust. It's also funny. His life has been so fucking serious for so long that the irreverence is funny. Charming.
His father would have hated Sebastian. "Do whatever you want to me," he says.
"You're sweet. I will." Sebastian spreads his legs. "You want my cock. You're practically drooling for it. Go on then. I can see how it is with you," he says, stroking himself.
"Why is it sexier the more obnoxious you are?" Peter asks and drops to the floor to obey. His mouth opens as he moves in close.
"Because you're a fucking masochist and I'm the best thing that's ever happened to you," Sebastian says and slaps him lightly across the face.
"Fuck!" Peter gasps, his cock jerking between his legs. For one horrible second, he thinks he's going to come. Spontaneously. From being slapped. He grips himself tightly in one hand, squeezing ruthlessly, and kisses Sebastian's thigh. "Anything you want."
"Oh, I know. I can tell. You're a fucking cock slut. This is like Christmas, Peter. I think I get to rip you open and play with you whenever and however I want. What do you think?"
He presses his forehead to Sebastian's thigh, stroking himself furiously. He needs to come. He's never needed anything so badly in his entire life.
"You know you have to ask me, right? You can't just come whenever you want. It's fucking rude. And if I say no, then that's it. You just have to be good. You want to make me happy, don't you?"
Sebastian's hand slides into his hair, fisting tight, making eye contact. Peter blinks up at him. "You think I'll say no a lot?" His smile is mean.
"Yeah, I do."
"Yeah, I will," he echoes. "So be careful when you get your hand on that cock. Don't get carried away."
Peter slows down, forces himself to stop. He's not stupid. He understands where this is going. "You're so fucking young," he says, because it's true and it's the only possible way Peter can get any sort of leverage here.
"Aren't you a Republican?" Sebastian looks at him skeptically, lips tilted downwards as if he's disappointed in a child or a dog for bad behavior.
"I've been kicked out of the party."
"Well, that's a start. Still. You should be fucking ashamed of yourself. What would people say? God, if I had to introduce you to my friends—"
"Am I babysitting in this scenario?"
Sebastian's gaze narrows. There's a hint of a smile on his mouth. "Oh, honey. We both know you are not in charge here. I can do anything to you. It's making me really fucking hard. And you're about to come everywhere like a goddamned virgin staring at his first dick—are you a virgin?"
Sebastian leans back, and then he lifts his leg. Peter tries to kiss his knee, but Sebastian makes a sound in his throat to stop him. Peter obeys, watching with excited dread as Sebastian places his heel against Peter's balls, his toes digging into Peter's shaft.
Peter has to close his eyes, but it's too late. He thrusts against the young man's foot, and then he's coming. It's shameful, the pleasure heightened because he's so ashamed.
Sebastian laughs. Which makes it even more intense. "Should I take that as a yes, old man?"
He's still pulsing come, pressing his cock into Sebastian's foot. Fuck, it was good, he thinks, and Sebastian rubs his foot up and down the length.
Peter hisses and stops him, gets come all over his hand.
Sebastian presses harder, pain spreading through Peter's cock and balls and into his abdomen.
"Goddamn," he says through gritted teeth when Sebastian finally lets up. Peter shudders in agony.
"Well, you can't tell me you don't like it."
"Uh, no. I wouldn't say that," he says, running his hands up and down his own thighs as the pain dulls and mellows.
"I can't even blame you for it. How can I be mad when you're such a slut you couldn't fucking help it?"
The embarrassment Peter feels is so intense that he closes his eyes.
"Oh my fucking god. You blush down to your tits. That's adorable." Sebastian chuckles. "So, you come like a twelve-year-old looking at a bra in a women's magazine—"
Peter shakes his head. "No, I've never come to a women's magazine. Imagining a handsome man in a three-piece suit, that's a different story."
Sebastian's gaze narrows, and he wishes he hadn't said anything. "Why? Was it before the internet? Before TV?"
He knows Sebastian is joking, but he answers seriously, wanting to tell someone. He's thirty-five years old, and this is his first chance to explain himself to someone and be understood.
"No, I just had to be… careful. My family would have disowned me.
We had security, and I couldn't move without someone knowing what I was doing.
And there were always men in our house for meetings and dinner.
Businessmen, powerful men—" He hauls in a breath and lets it out with a hitched laugh. "I guess that affected me."
"Guess so. Not bi then?"
"No. Guess not." He doesn't tell Sebastian that all his limited sexual experiences have been with women. Attempting to stay one step ahead of a failing erection and fear of discovery. Fear of rumors and speculation.
"Poor you. That's depressing. You have a lot to make up for," he says, voice flat. He means it, but there isn't a lot of sympathy, and Peter likes that. He doesn't want to be pitied.
"So, what did you imagine? Some rich politician or CEO coming along to fuck you, sneaking into your room during a fundraising dinner? Making you suck him off before he went back to his port and cigar?"
Peter looks away. That's not what he'd imagined. He's pretty sure he should have. That sounds a lot better and nicer than Peter's fantasies.
Sebastian whistles. "That blush. Your nipples are coral. You have to tell me now."
"Do I?" he asks, looking up at Sebastian through his lashes. He spreads his legs just a little, and Sebastian's foot goes back, pressing on his balls.
"Slut. Yeah, you do."
"Fuck, sorry!" Peter says through gritted teeth when the pressure is too much.
Sebastian lets up and it shatters Peter's resistance. He kisses Sebastian's thigh, breathes him in, wanting the scent of his arousal to burn deep into his lungs.
"Please, please," he murmurs, wanting Sebastian to know he's willing and desperate for anything. The pain in his groin settles, and he looks, finally lets himself look at the perfect, flushed cock right in front of his face.
Eye level.
He's forced himself to maintain eye contact with Sebastian or look at the wall, to not be obvious in just how fucking desperate he is to have Sebastian's cock in his mouth and his ass, rubbing on his face.