Chapter 8 #2
“No. I don’t want to wait that long,” he says, and Peter whimpers because he loves that and can’t help it. Sebastian flashes him a quick grin. He knows. Of course he does.
Sebastian fumbles with his pants, yanking them open just enough, the both of them still kneeling in the dirt, and then he’s fisting his cock, his other hand on the back of Peter’s head, pressing it to Sebastian’s chest. The head is inches away and Peter makes a move to get it into his mouth.
Sebastian presses harder, his voice a rasp of command.
“What did I say?”
Peter swears, forces himself to stay still and watch as Sebastian’s hand slides up and down his hard cock. Sebastian doesn’t want to wait but Peter is so goddamn close. And his mouth is better than Sebastian’s hand. His ass is tighter than Sebastian‘s hand.
Fuck, Peter’s own hand is better than Sebastian’s hand, isn’t it?
He just wants to be used. It’s cruel to make him watch and not touch.
He can hear Sebastian‘s heart beating, pounding, as he works himself to orgasm. His skin is hot and sweaty, the T-shirt Peter is pressed against is damp, and the scent of aroused male in his prime sits heavily between them. It’s around Peter, and he forces his fingers deeper into the dirt so he doesn’t touch and disobey.
Sebastian comes, standing just enough so that each stripe of come lands on Peter’s face. Peter closes his eyes, can feel each pulse, hot and marking, as it lands on the bridge of his nose and across his cheeks.
“Fuck,” Sebastian gasps.
And then it’s on his lips. Sebastian hasn’t told him to lick or open his mouth, and Sebastian won’t be pleased with him if he takes the initiative and does it on his own.
He’s been instructed to stay still, and he just wants to be good and obedient.
It’s difficult, though, but that’s likely part of what Sebastian wants.
“Fuck, that felt good. And look how pretty you are covered in come.”
Peter trembles, his own cock hard and aching, untouched and heavy between his legs. Is Sebastian going to let him come? What if… what if he doesn’t? What if Sebastian is that selfish and just leaves him to burn, dirty and come-covered in the dirt?
And then they’ll go in to take a shower, and Sebastian will probably take his ass, and what if he doesn’t come then either?
That makes him throb, makes the ache worse.
He might be denied. He might not come. Peter could just have to sit with all of this arousal and frustrated desire and hope that Sebastian takes pity on him sooner rather than later.
He loves the denial because it’s terrible. It’s so mean and casually cruel. It requires nothing of Sebastian, and yet it means that Peter will hurt and want. Sebastian becomes even more important, more attractive, everything magnified because he is unattainable.
They haven’t talked much about Peter’s love of denial because Sebastian does like him to come. And so often it seems like Peter’s orgasm is a check-in or proof that the misery and hurt he causes Peter isn’t too much because he can come from it.
And if he tells Sebastian that he wants to be denied and left to burn, that it would be a way to show his devotion, then isn’t it selfish? If what Sebastian wants is for him to come, then Peter saying he doesn’t want to puts Peter’s needs first.
And so he says nothing. Though he can’t help but hope that this time Sebastian won’t return the favor. He might just walk away and leave Peter covered in come, needing and unfulfilled. And Peter would crawl after him like a lonely dog, desperate for relief and affection.
God, maybe he should just ask.
Sebastian reaches down, pats roughly between Peter’s legs, finding the hard shape of his erection.
Peter opens his eyes to see Sebastian‘s face, wants to see that pleased smile he gets when he discovers Peter hard after he’s done something selfish. And that’s why he doesn’t say anything. Sebastian licks at a stripe of come on Peter’s jaw and presses it into Peter’s mouth with his tongue.
Peter moans quietly, bitter salt of come and sweat in his mouth. He knows how this goes. He does his part, licking and sucking Sebastian’s come in small kisses as Sebastian cleans his face, murmuring little endearments about how Peter is come-soaked and lovely.
His sweet slut.
Peter swallows and waits for more, wishes he could touch Sebastian, run his hands all over Sebastian’s chest and caress his cock.
He fantasizes about Sebastian doing this to him, feeding Peter his come or their come, and the primal satisfaction he can hear in Sebastian’s voice as he obeys and takes it all down.
“You’re so fucking good for me. How are you so goddamn good?”
Peter smiles, pleased at the praise.
“It’s for your birthday,” Sebastian says, and Peter has no idea what he’s talking about. He knows Sebastian is waiting for a response, but Peter still can’t figure out what his birthday has to do with anything. His birthday is weeks away.
“What?” he finally asks. And then there’s one last come-filled kiss before Sebastian stops, gets properly to his feet, and offers his cock to Peter so that he can give it a final lick clean.
“I want the money for your birthday.”
Peter blinks up at him. “How the hell are you going to spend three thousand on my birthday?”
“Well, you’ll just have to see, won’t you?”
“If we’re going somewhere, tell me the dates so I can make sure it’s not a problem.”
“You’ll need to keep some time free. My plan involves the weekend.”
The whole weekend? “Good. But how are you going to spend three thousand? Can’t you give me a hint?”
“You just get to wonder. Isn’t it exciting? So many possibilities!”
“Are there?” Peter asks, genuinely curious. “We don’t have to do something big. Honestly, even if it’s just us here and we do nothing, it’ll still be one of the best birthdays I’ve ever had. We should just donate the money to charity or something.”
“That’s the saddest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.
And you know what? I believe you. But you deserve an amazing birthday, and I am going to make it happen.
But what I want to have happen for your birthday is not cheap and since you have a lot of money and don’t particularly care”—he shrugs, his smile predatory—“I’ll just spend it for you. ”
“You could give me a hint. I could probably help you plan?” His heart is pounding. What is it? What is Sebastian planning? What if it’s a disappointment? What if it’s incredible?
“No, just know that it’s going to be great. I’m planning it. Now put me away.”
Peter presses a final kiss to the head of Sebastian‘s cock and carefully tucks him back in his underwear. He buttons up Sebastian’s jeans.
Sebastian extends a hand down, helping Peter to his feet.
And then Sebastian is pressing close, arm wrapped around Peter’s neck, hand on Peter’s cock, stroking him roughly through his pants.
Peter groans, grinds into the touch.
“You should come like this, fucking up against my hand, rubbing that cockhead until it’s sore, making a mess in your pants, and then you can sit in your own spunk for a little. Sweetheart. Doesn’t that sound—“
And then they’re interrupted. There's the harsh sound of Peter’s back gate opening and closing. He jerks away, putting distance between them just as Mark appears around the corner.
“Where’s your phone? I’ve been calling you for twenty minutes,” he says, annoyed. And then he looks at Sebastian. “Wait, aren’t you the artist?” Mark asks speculatively.
“I am the artist, and gardener… apparently,” he says and wipes his hand on his jeans. He extends it for Mark to shake. “Sebastian Craft, nice to meet you.”
“You’re very talented,” Mark says. “Why the hell are you slumming it doing manual labor?”
Sebastian cuts a glance to Peter. Peter, who is now blushing and utterly mortified. “That is the question.”
“We’re supposed to go to the Elks Club. They’re one of the only groups that didn’t cancel once Peter stepped down from office. Can’t believe you forgot,” he says.
“I’ve been… enjoying the break.”
Mark snorts. “Well, hurry.”
Peter hurries inside, shocked and unsettled and so discombobulated he trips on the uneven pavement. Peter goes straight to the kitchen and washes his hands.
“I’m sorry,” he says, voice uneven as he scrubs at his dirty fingernails. “I should have… introduced you before now.”
Sebastian’s hand settles on his shoulders. “What’s going on?”
Peter sighs, but it hitches with emotion. “I don’t want to go. I’m dreading it. I’m like a child scared to go to the dentist. It’s so stupid.”
Sebastian presses a kiss to Peter’s sweaty neck. “That isn’t stupid. It must be hard to decide what to say now that you’ve left the party. If they didn’t cancel then you just be honest. People can be curious and even understanding. There is still some empathy in the world.”
Peter shuts off the water and turns around, grabs a dish towel and tries to dry his hands, dividing his attention between Sebastian and the towel as a distraction because it’s too important and revealing otherwise.
“Aren’t you wise?” Peter snaps and then he shakes his head and takes a deep breath.
“I’m sorry. I don’t want to snap at you.
It’s not fair. I think of you as my… person.
You are the one I rely on and come home to, fall apart to,” he says and grimaces.
He’d like to fall apart less. “If I’m being honest, I think I probably rely on you too much.
I spend so much time thinking about you when I’m at these events that it’s, well, honestly it’s terrifying to need someone so much. ”
Peter moves aside, needing distance after that revelation, and Sebastian washes his hands, silent for so long that Peter starts to get stressed out and antsy. Maybe he should just go and they can continue this conversation when he gets back?
“God, Peter,” he says, shaking his head. “We have to talk about this when you get back. You’re going to be okay. I see you and I know you. You’re a good man. And I want all of you.”
Peter presses his hands to his eyes, horribly close to bursting into tears. “I have to go,” he says and forces himself to start moving.
He looks around, trying to figure out what else he might be missing. He’s so frazzled and emotionally unsettled he isn’t even sure he’d remember what it is even if he did have longer to think about it.
“I think that’s everything.”
“What about your clothes?”
“Fuck,” Peter says. He dashes up the stairs to shower and change.
Sebastian is standing next to the door, shoulders a little hunched and hands in his pockets when Peter comes back down. He looks young. Unguarded. He straightens when Peter gets close, shoulders back, trying to assert himself.
“Call me when it’s over, if you want,” he says.
Peter nods.
Sebastian doesn’t move out of the way.
“I have to go,” Peter says, voice low.
Instead of pulling Peter closer, he moves into Peter’s space. He kisses Peter gently on the mouth.
“You’re mine. I won’t be letting you go. I am your boyfriend. You are my boyfriend. I’m your Dominant, your Sir. You are my submissive. We take care of each other. I think we need to start figuring out what that means, make the arrangement more formal. This isn’t casual for either of us, Peter.”
“How?” he whispers. It’s exactly what he’s wanted to hear.
Sebastian shrugs. “I’m not sure. I think we should talk about it when you get back. But I’m not averse to a collar or some kind of a contract.”
Peter doesn’t trust the surge of wild emotion that goes through him.
It’s too complex. There’s a desperate desire to belong, a horrible longing to be Sebastian’s, to have his obsession and lust be known and exploited.
And he wants Sebastian to be just as obsessed with him.
Possessive. He wants a collar. A contract. Clear expectations.
“It’s not like a contract is legally binding,” Peter says. He needs to make light of it.
“It would be binding to us. I think you know that. And you know what? I think I’m starting to figure you out, too. It isn’t shame, is it? It’s fear. So I have to make you feel safe. Better boundaries and clear expectations for my boy.”
Peter flinches.
“I need to go,” Peter says.
Sebastian needs to make him feel safe? When he’s a former marine? When he’s got a fucking gun safe and has killed men in combat? That’s ridiculous. He tries to reach past Sebastian and open the door.
Sebastian puts his hand on Peter’s chest, stopping him. Peter should tell him to move, should just move him. But he can’t do any of those things.
Sebastian is his Sir, his Dominant, the man he loves. And it would be fundamentally disrespectful to dismiss him.
Peter hasn’t said it aloud but that’s part of his devotion to Sebastian. His willingness to obey.
Peter tries not to think about how deep his loyalty goes, just how important being loyal and devoted is to him. And it certainly isn’t something he’d ever want to articulate, but it motivates him and it’s something he lives by. Devotion to the people he loves.
Leaving his career and reputation behind was easy with that as his moral compass. Starting over was the only option once he had that clear.
He’d die for Sebastian. But he doesn’t need to die for Sebastian. This is how he can show his love. And so he needs to wait until Sebastian dismisses him and decides the conversation is over. And if that means the whole world has to wait, then so be it.
And once again he feels like Sebastian can read his mind or can see it all on Peter’s face.
“Sweetheart,“ Sebastian says, voice soft and full of so much affection. And what the fuck is Peter supposed to do with that beyond cry and want to give Sebastian his body and soul?
He tries to shake his head because he needs to go and this is going to make him more emotional. He should try to put other obligations first.
“This is real to me.“
“I understand,” Peter rasps, blinking quickly.
“Good boy. Let me give you a kiss goodbye.”
Peter nods, offers his mouth. The kiss is soft and firm, almost chaste.
But then Sebastian kisses his jaw and then his neck.
And then he strikes, hauling Peter forward against his body, mouth opening, teeth clenching, sinking into the skin low on Peter’s neck.
The mark will be hidden under his collar.
“Fuck,” Peter gasps, collapsing as he surrenders to the harsh bite.
When Sebastian lets him go, his neck throbs. Peter touches it gently. There’s no blood. He’s surprised.
“That’s for you. So you know I want you.”
“Yes, Sir,” Peter whispers, and Sebastian lets him go.