Part Two R.S.V.P. #4
Joe pulled back, just far enough to look Scott in the eye. He smiled down at Scott not even trying to hide his triumphant expression.
He rubbed his hand against Scott’s fly even more quickly. His fingers danced in a complicated routine that had obviously been choreographed by an actual sex-god. No mere mortal could have worked out how to force that much pleasure into a man’s cock without even undoing his zip.
Scott’s hips jerked forward. His vision blurred and, for the first time since he was a young teenager, Scott came all over the inside of his jeans
Ecstasy shot through him, tearing through his body, not caring what sort of damage it left in its wake. Any energy that Scott had left in him fled. He slumped forward, barely able to stay on his feet a second longer.
Bowing his head, he rested his temple on Joe’s shoulder. Joe’s hand was still on his crotch, still rubbing against him through the denim.
With his breaths coming in pants, Scott closed his eyes and watched the pretty patterns swirl behind his eyelids.
As blissful as it was, he couldn’t let himself indulge in his ecstasy for too long.
He’d already come like a schoolboy; he’d be damned if he’d make the situation even more embarrassing by fainting like a schoolgirl too.
Joe didn’t pull away from him or demand that Scott man-up and stand on his own two feet. He didn’t stop stroking Scott’s fly either. It was almost as if Joe hadn’t noticed that he’d come. Or maybe as if he had noticed, but simply considered that fact irrelevant.
As they stood there together, it felt far more like Joe was touching him simply because that was what he wanted to do. He had the right, and he was exercising it because he could. Scott’s orgasm might have been a vaguely interesting bi-product, but it hadn’t been the aim.
It was the pleasure Joe got from playing with Scott’s cock through his jeans that was the important thing, not the sheer ecstasy Scott had received in the process.
Scott bit down hard on his bottom lip. The bitter metallic flavour of blood filled his mouth, washing away the lingering taste of Joe’s cum.
That wasn’t fair. Scott had wanted so much to make the sweet saltiness last, to preserve any evidence that this evening had really happened, and keep hold of it for the rest of his life.
“How’s your back feeling?” Joe suddenly enquired.
Moving very slowly, very carefully, Scott lifted his head. “My b-back?” He blinked as he tried to make his mind work. Joe’s hand had been on his cock, not his back. Scott was very sure of that. His shaft still throbbed with the aftershocks.
One brain cell finally bumped into another. Nerve endings whirled into action. Every inch of skin from the nape of his neck to the back of his ankles tingled.
Of course—the flogging! Scott shrugged his shoulders; his shirt rubbed against his sensitised skin. “It feels g-good.”
Joe nodded, just once, as if that were nothing more or less than he’d expected.
The universe was obviously operating in exactly the way Joe was used to.
It was only Scott’s world that had been turned upside down and shaken until every familiar landmark had dropped off it and scattered across the dusty floor around his feet.
“Th-th-thank you.” Scott could barely make the words loud enough to be heard, but at the same time, they needed to be said.
Joe raised one dark eyebrow. His eyes danced with humour. “Are you thanking me for flogging you and screwing you? Or are you talking about me letting you suck my cock and allowing you to come?”
Scott stared up into Joe’s eyes for a long time.
All those things were liberties that Joe could easily have decided not to grant him.
That fact had never been clearer. Whatever happened between them, it would only ever be because Joe allowed it.
Scott’s happiness was Joe’s to permit or deny on a whim.
Scott’s stomach turned over. Just because the idea was as hot as hell, that didn’t stop it giving him a cold, foreboding feeling in the pit of his gut.
A sudden instinct for self-preservation made Scott try to take a step back, but he was pressed against the bar. He squirmed and shuffled his feet, but there was nowhere for him to go.
“I’m still waiting for an answer,” Joe reminded him.
What had he been thanking him for? The question whirled around and around in Scott’s head.
“All of t-the a-above,” he finally whispered. He’d never heard himself sound so uncertain.
A slow smile twisted Joe’s lips, making him appear incredibly satisfied with himself. Relief bubbled up inside Scott. He hadn’t said anything stupid. He’d been right to tell the truth.
“You have no idea how much of a natural sub you are, do you?”
Without a single word of warning, Joe stepped back.
The heat from Joe’s body faded from Scott’s skin. He frowned, wondering when he had lost the ability to warm himself from the inside; when his blood had begun to feel cold within his veins unless Joe was pressed against him. Suddenly, Scott felt dependent upon Joe for even that basic need.
Instincts screamed inside Scott, demanding that he step forward and close the gap between them, but his feet were rooted to the floor. “Can I h-help you c-clean up?” he blurted out.
“I think you’ve already done that,” Joe said, as he tucked his freshly licked cock away.
In spite of everything they’d just done together, Scott felt heat rush to his cheeks at Joe’s teasing. “No, I m-mean the club. I could help you—”
Joe cut him off with a shake of his head. “Not my job. My shift is over. I just have to lock up when we leave.”
“Oh…” Scott shuffled his feet. His jeans were turning increasingly uncomfortable as his cum dried on the inside of his fly.
He glanced toward the door leading out of the club. He should leave. That was obvious. But whatever glue had been used to stick his feet to the floor was bloody stubborn stuff. All he could do was stand there like an idiot, staring down at his shoes.
Another pair of shoes appeared in his field of vision as black leather boots stepped between his trainers.
Scott jerked his head up.
Joe was right in front of him. “It’s time to go.”
Scott nodded, and then went right on staring at Joe, not moving an inch.
Joe placed his hands on Scott’s shoulders and turned him around.
A sharp tap on Scott’s arse finally convinced him to move toward the gap in the bar that he hadn’t been able to find before.
It also sent a surprising wave of pleasure tingling through his body, and a whole host of possibilities racing through his mind.
With Joe right behind him, Scott reluctantly stepped out of the club and into the cool, early morning air. It had to be gone three a.m. and there was a decided chill to the air. No hint of dawn showed over the horizon yet. There wasn’t a soul to be seen on the street.
Rubbing vaguely at his upper arms in an attempt to keep them warm, Scott lurked just outside the club as Joe locked up and pulled down the shutters.
Then, Scott had no excuses left.
Joe had said that he’d probably want to screw him again at some point, but Scott wasn’t going to embarrass himself by asking when he could see Joe next. Dating and hooking up were different things. Hoping for the former rather than the latter would be silly.
Being Joe’s back up option if no one better came along was fine with Scott. He took a step backward, away from Joe, then another, and another. Summoning up all his will power, he finally convinced himself to turn around and walk across the road to his beaten up old car.
“It’s your turn.”
Scott looked over his shoulder. “What?”
Joe reached into the pocket of the leather jacket he’d picked up on the way out of the club and took out a piece of paper.
Scott hurried back across the street and took what was now clearly an envelope from Joe.
“I don’t understand,” he admitted, staring down at the blank surface. The messy letters he’d hoped to see scrawled across the envelope were conspicuously absent.
“It’s your turn,” Joe repeated.
Scott continued to stare down at the envelope, still without the least clue what Joe was talking about.
“What do you want to invite me to do with you next time we meet up?” Joe prompted.
Scott opened his mouth. He closed it again, without saying a single word. There was going to be a definite, pre-arranged, next time. He was going to meet up with Joe, almost as if they had a date. They were going to do another scene and have sex. They were going to…
It didn’t really matter what they did. Scott was pretty sure he’d have a fantastic time if he was just allowed to sit and stare at Joe.
“Think about it.” Joe flicked his finger against the envelope. “When you’ve made your decision, let me know. But remember what I said earlier—no one else lays a hand on you while I’m playing with you.”
Scott silently watched Joe turn and walk away. Joe’s long legs quickly ate up the pavement. Within seconds he’d turned the corner at the end of the street and disappeared from view.
Joe was playing with him. Scott couldn’t help but picture a big cat toying with its prey, but the image didn’t put him off at all. Neither did the fact that Joe hadn’t said anything about both of them being obliged to remain faithful to the other.
Dropping his attention to the envelope in his hand, Scott made his way blindly back to his car. Unlocking it, he slid behind the steering wheel. Closing the car door, Scott took a deep breath and ran his free hand slowly down his face.
He needed a shower, several night’s worth of sleep, a good meal, and at least a lifetime in which to process everything that had happened that night. But, in that particular moment, he realised that what he really needed, more than any of those other things, was a pen.
As he turned the key in the ignition, a smile crept on to Scott’s lips. It was his turn, his chance to ask Joe for whatever he wanted…