And that suits Ben just fine, although he doesn’t slip under into subspace, and Xander uses a light hand with the crop. Ultimately, it just leaves Ben feeling unsatisfied. Satisfied with his orgasm, forced out of him by Xander’s insistent hand, sure. But the pain portion of the sex is far less than Ben was seeking. He doesn’t say anything, just tries to show how much he enjoys it when Xander is whipping him, and asks for more, and more, until Xander is more interested in fucking him than hitting him. It’s not quite enough to scratch the itch, but he doesn’t want to push beyond Xander’s boundaries.
Ben is beginning to wonder if he’ll ever get the old Xander back, the predatory, scary, intense, fun Xander who used to order him around politely with a steely tone and scratch, bite, slap, hurt him. Everything seems so…vanilla.
Ben is disconcerted to realize it, but he misses that other Xander.
On the plus side, Xander has been very receptive to Ben’s new relationship rules. He’s agreed to everything on the list, and more importantly, he’s actively taken steps to implement them, like letting Ben watch him come as he jerks off in the shower. Ben hasn’t been allowed to touch and watch at the same time yet, but that’s fine for now. He knows some kind of power element is important to Xander, and Ben is still getting what he wants, so it’s win-win.
They’ve even discussed the idea of Xander subbing again, but Ben is less interested in doing that right now.
“It’s more a proviso,” he explains. “Like, a clause I can activate if I feel the need. But I really, really don’t feel the need right now, man. Trust me. It wouldn’t be good.”
“As long as you’re sure,” Xander says, and he has that I’m being brave expression that Ben finds more adorable than puppies and kittens combined, and he has to kiss Xander for a long, long time.
There has been no more chai, and Xander has been more open, sharing some of his fantasies and dreams. Ben finds he could actually stand not to hear about some of them, but he listens without censure, because he wants to understand. Xander has what Ben thinks are terrible, frightening nightmares, but he describes them with such bliss that it’s difficult to call them bad dreams. Every so often, too, Xander asks again whether Ben wants to read his journals, any of them, or listen to his therapy tapes. He has scores of mini-cassettes and CDs stacked away neatly in one of the toy boxes, labeled and dated, and one flash drive simply tagged ‘Paul.’ It takes only a few moments for Ben to realize what’s wrong with the scenario.
“You only had a few session with each of these therapists. This guy, three times. This guy, five times. This guy—once? Really?”
“He…didn’t like me,” Xander says with a wry smile. “But, yeah. I used to bolt early. And often.”
“But you’re sticking with Paul?”
“I’m not so afraid of what I’ll find now,” Xander explains, shrugging. “And I trust you. I believe you, when you say you love me. When you say you love what I do.”
I used to love what you did, but you don’t do it anymore, Ben thinks with a twinge of regret. He misses the intense play more every day, but he hasn’t brought it up again with Xander, because he doesn’t want to push.
He also doesn’t want to listen to the tapes, or read Xander’s journals, not yet. Maybe not ever. But he’s writing again for Xander in the journal he used during the 24/7 trial, to Xander’s delight, although Xander tries to cover it with a thin veneer of nonchalance. And Ben, feeling sappy and a little foolish, even finds himself sharing his poetry sometimes, which Xander loves trying to analyze, while Ben hides his face in embarrassment.
Xander is even making inquiries about private parties, so he can introduce Ben to people in the community.
All in all, they’ve mostly integrated the old rules with the new, so that they call each other daily if they’re out of town, and one of them happily marks in the sharpie XR when it fades, and Ben even does yoga with Xander sometimes in the living room, while Noah watches in confusion, and Henry judges them. Ben loves watching Xander bend and stretch, his air of peaceful concentration filling the room and making Ben feel calm just by proximity. Things are working pretty well.
Except for guilt and the lack of sadomasochistic sex.
Since a deal is a deal, Ben keeps his usual appointment with Suzanne, and in the meantime thinks hard about what she—and Xander, for that matter—said to him.
“Maybe they’re right,” he mutters to his own reflection while he brushes his teeth. The guilt thing has gone on long enough; perhaps it’s just self-flagellation at this point. He wishes it could be that easy, that just wanting to give it up was enough to make it stop. But it’s not so simple.
Suzanne offers no answers either, when he asks—she gives him the old line about solutions having to come from him; that he already knows what to do, he just hasn’t realized it yet. And so Ben thinks, almost every spare moment, about what would help him let go, until a plan starts to form.
A week later, they’re lying on Xander’s bed together, sated and sleepy after an afternoon of sex. Xander is lying on top of him, sticky but welcome. There’s still a distinct lack of intense pain, but Ben thinks he might have found a way to solve all his problems.
“I’ve been thinking,” he tells Xander.
“Oh, God.”
“Don’t tease me.”
“I’m not. You, thinking, really does scare me.”
“Xander.”
Xander sighs. “Okay. What have you been thinking?”
“I’ve been thinking maybe we should give it another shot. With the breathplay, I mean. Try it again, try to make it good.”
Ben tries to figure out if the silence that follows is a negative, or just Xander coming to terms with things. His heartbeat is steady, but the quiet stretches until Ben is sure it’s a bad sign, and he starts wondering how he can backtrack, or at least make it okay between them. “I didn’t mean to—”
“I love you,” Xander says, which is not what Ben was expecting. “I love you and I think it’s a block that we should try to get by, that particular night, and what happened. I didn’t want to bring it up, because I thought maybe it was too soon, and I thought it would be better for you to come to it yourself, but Paul suggested that we work it through together. So, yeah. Maybe we should try it again.”
“Your therapist suggested that you asphyxiate me? Seriously, man, I have to start going to him too. Much more exciting than charting my mood every day like Suzanne wanted me to do.”
“Obviously he didn’t say that, and he’s pretty anti-breathplay anyway. But he said I should think about what I could do to help you let that night go, and, well, that’s what I came up with.”
“So your way to make me feel better is by depriving me of oxygen?”
“You brought it up!” Xander points out, indignant.
Ben starts laughing. “I broke your Zen.”
“I’m still Zen,” Xander snaps, but Ben chuckles in triumph.
“Okay,” he says, once he’s calmed down. “We’re going to do it. So in keeping with our new agreement, we should talk about it.”
“I don’t want to do it like I originally planned it,” Xander says quickly. “It would have too many bad memories.”
“Okay. So how?”
Xander starts talking, telling him about a few different scenarios he’s thought out, and Ben is struck again by how inventive and creative he is; how prepared and methodical and thoughtful. Ben plays out the different ideas in his imagination.
“I like the bathroom one best. I like that I can watch it happen that way, in the mirror.”
“Okay. Bathroom it is. And you’re really sure?”
“Talk-therapy is all well and good, but I feel like I need some kind of action here. Not just words. So, yeah, I’m sure. When can we do it?”
“Not tonight. But you can choose when.”
“Tomorrow night. If that’s enough time for you.”
Xander kisses him, next to his ear, and Ben can feel him smiling against his skin.
“Always so impatient, my Benjamin. Alright. Tomorrow night.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Ben turns up exactly on time to Xander’s house the next night, with a bottle of champagne and some cookie things. Xander looks most excited about the cookie things. “We can’t drink before—”
“I know that,” Ben sighs. “I brought it for afterwards, if we felt like it. And, hey, those are supposed to be for after, too!” But Xander has already crammed one of the cookies into his mouth.
“Oh,” he says, spitting crumbs. “Sorry. There’s still some left.”
Once Ben has confiscated the remaining cookie things and put the champagne in the fridge, he pulls Xander towards the bedroom. “Henry and Noah?”
“They’re with Joe. I didn’t want them getting in the way if I had to call an ambulance.” Ben does a double-take, but Xander isn’t kidding. “Like I said, Benjamin, it’s dangerous.”
“Nothing ventured, nothing gained.” Ben feels the fear, he can’t deny it, but this is important. He’s made his cost-benefit analysis and decided to take the risk.
“Shouldn’t we be in the bathroom?” Xander asks.
Ben starts undressing automatically. “I thought it would be nice to start here, with me taking off my clothes, like we always used to.”
He waves away Xander’s awkward, “You don’t have to do that if you don’t—”
“It wouldn’t be the same without it. I know you like it. And I like it too.” Ben stripping off for Xander’s pleasure has become such an integral part of their intense scenes that it would seem strange not to do it.
“If you’re sure.”
“Xander, I’m really not looking for your polite side tonight.”
Xander rubs his hand slowly over his mouth and then nods. “Yeah.”
“And I did want to make a change to the schedule, if you’re okay with it,” Ben tells him. “If you’re not, that’s fine, but I wondered if you could use these first.” He scrabbles at the side of the bed and comes back out with the riding crop and the rattan cane. Xander still keeps them there, although he hasn’t used the cane for a long time.
“You don’t like the cane,” Xander says slowly.
“I like the riding crop. And you like the cane. We can compromise.”
Xander gives a shake of his head, almost involuntary.
Ben steps forward and places the cane into his hand. “You know, it’s not like I soaked it,” he says with a small, nervous grin. “And I do enjoy it. I mean—I don’t like it, but I enjoy it. The sensations and what it does to my head. I enjoy it more after it’s finished, sure, but I do enjoy it. And if I didn’t, I wouldn’t ask you to do it.” Xander finally wraps his fingers around the cane, and takes the crop as well. “I don’t want to push you, but really, truly, this is something I want.”
“Alright,” Xander says. “As long as you promise you’ll safe-word if it’s too much.”
It’s not too much. It’s nowhere near too much, because Xander is as close to gentle as he can possibly be. Ben leans over the bed, frowning intently at the familiar bedspread.
Xander uses the crop first, and the first few blows are just light slaps until Ben starts demanding more. But he’s grateful for it, because Xander is taking his time, working him up. When he switches to the cane, Ben tenses up, but the sting is completely bearable, and Ben wonders if it’ll even leave a mark.
“Harder. Please.”
Xander only hesitates for a moment before swinging again, more forceful, wrenching out a tiny, painful noise from Ben. It’s still nothing near the pain he’s felt sometimes, but Ben can feel himself starting to drift, and he’s so excited by it that he snaps himself out of it before it even gets started. It’s frustrating.
“A little harder. Please.”
“You’re enjoying it?”
“Yes. Come on. Please.”
“Really sure?”
“Jesus, Xander, will you just hit me?”
And Xander gives a small, satisfied laugh.
“Hey! You were waiting for me to beg for it,” Ben realizes. “You sneaky—fuck!”
This blow is much tougher, searing through him, but it’s what he asked for, and it’s good. So Ben bites at his lip or yelps in pain until his legs are locked and trembling, and Xander stops, runs a hand over his ass.
“I have to say—” Xander stops, clears his throat, and Ben can hear the tremble in his voice. “I really want to fuck you right now. Maybe we could skip—”
“Please, Xander. We agreed.”
Xander pulls him up from the bed, supporting Ben’s weight when he sags. Ben is sore and light-headed, and there’s a strange feeling filling up his body, from his feet to his head. He giggles, which isn’t a noise he usually makes. “Toes to nose, Alexander. And nose to toes.”
“What are you talking about?” Xander is amused.
“Happiness. No. It’s joy.” Ben smiles crazily at Xander, clutching at his shoulders. “Let’s keep doing this forever, okay?”
“We can certainly try. Bathroom now?”
Ben goes willingly, but Xander has to help him. His legs aren’t quite working properly, and he feels almost disembodied. His center of consciousness is somewhere slightly outside himself. “Fuck me, I’ve missed this,” he mumbles, and Xander understands.
“Me, too. I get envious, sometimes; you go under so completely. I wish I could get that far out of my head.”
Ben nods lazily. “You should try it again. I’d be nice to you.”
“You’re cute.” Xander stops him in the doorway of the bathroom and kisses him, hard, leaves Ben gasping. “And sure, we can do that. But right now I just wanna watch you struggling to breathe.”
“We are so fucking weird, you know that?”
“I know.” Xander pulls him to the sink, and Ben grabs at it thankfully, grinning at his own reflection in the mirror, and Xander’s behind him.
“I look kind of psycho.”
“You do,” Xander agrees. “But you’re my psycho.” Ben catches his eyes in the mirror and they stare at each other, smirking, until the tension grows, and Xander’s gaze get bright and flinty, and Ben sees that old familiar look, the cold predator peeking out, and he’s missed it so much that he starts laughing.
“Bite me. I mean, literally. Bite me.”
Xander looks hungry at Ben’s words, and grabs at his shoulders from behind, puts a hand gently over his throat. Ben can feel his pulse pushing into Xander’s fingers and he keeps slipping under, inching into subspace, watching Xander incline his head down. Ben feels lips but no teeth, and it’s so goddamn frustrating, but when he tries to press up into his mouth, Xander pulls back. “Please,” Ben says.
“No. I’ll do it when I feel like it,” Xander tells him, and then he smiles, sharp and dangerous, and Ben squirms.
“Would it help if I beg you?”
“No. In fact, I think you should just be quiet now.” Xander murmurs right into his ear, and it raises goose-bumps on Ben’s arms, makes his head buzz. “You ready?”
Ben nods. They’ve agreed to a safe-signal tonight, so when Xander winds one arm around his chest, hugging him tight, Ben grabs his wrist: he’ll let go if he wants to stop. Or, obviously, if you pass out, Xander had added when they discussed it, but Ben is blithely confident that won’t happen.
They look at each other in the mirror again, at Ben’s hand clutching Xander’s wrist. It’s too reminiscent of That Night, when Ben grabbed him to stop him, so he slides his hand further down Xander’s forearm, and it feels better that way. He thinks he can feel Xander relaxing as well.
Ben closes his eyes for a moment to concentrate on the sensation, and Xander starts pinching at his nipples with his other hand, and then down his side until Ben is wriggling in pleasure and panting. He’s tugging at his own cock sporadically, his tender ass pressing into the denim of Xander’s jeans, and Xander is telling him encouraging things like what a good boy you are and no coming till I say and holy fuck, you’re so gorgeous like
this.
“Watch,” Xander says quietly, and grabs Ben’s face to make him look at the mirror. Ben barely recognizes himself; he looks high, or drunk maybe. Feverish. His chest is flushed and marked from Xander’s fingers, and his eyes are glittering. Xander swoops in to give him one fierce nip on the side of his neck, and the squeal of pain is so familiar that he inhales sharply, his heartbeat picking up with excitement. Xander immediately covers up his nose and mouth, pulling Ben’s head back against his shoulder. Ben can still see himself through half-lidded eyes, and sees Xander’s face too, a picture of concentration and desire.
It’s fine at first, no big deal, although his ears pop like he’s in an airplane when he tries to breathe out. It’s weird, because Ben has never thought all that much about breathing, or not being able to do it. Now that he can’t, it’s strange, not really erotic in and of itself—
Xander takes his hand away and Ben breathes in deeply a few times before he’s clamped back up again. It feels so final and so blank, like an iced-over lake. Inside, his lungs are giving spasms, seeking air by instinct, and his heart is getting faster; he feels like the water underneath the frozen surface, still swirling under the ice and getting more turbulent with each passing second.
“Go on,” Xander says, sounding as calm as ever. “Jack your cock for me. Yeah, like that. You’re so good when you want to be, Benjamin. No—no coming yet.” Because Ben is so rapidly there, right on edge, that it surprises him, and maybe Xander too, because Xander’s reflection in the mirror is smiling in an incredulous way.
Xander was right, and Xander is always right about this kind of thing, but it still catches Ben off guard despite the inevitability: it does make it better, the fact that Ben has time to suck in desperate lungfuls of air, his breathing harsh and desperate and whimpering noises escaping from him. After only a few rounds, he wants to struggle, even as he’s telling himself not to, but Xander enjoys that, making a low, dangerous noise when Ben digs his fingers into Xander’s forearm.
The only thing anchoring him right now, keeping him from flying off to the stars, is Xander, still fully dressed and holding him so tight that Ben would probably have difficulty breathing even if he didn’t have a hand over his mouth. Xander is watching him with an intense, calculating gaze and saying things quietly to him. The words swim into Ben’s ear, something about permission.
Break the Rules (Rough Love Book 7) Page 24