Power Play

by Stein, Charlotte

  I mean, it just reeks of eagerness. It speaks to the person Aidan actually is – which isn’t half as cold as those glacial eyes suggest. He’s fleshy, I think … visceral somehow. He reacts in swift, passion-filled spurts, and even if his various shenanigans around the office weren’t backing me up on that, I’d know it.

  It’s in the way he quite suddenly grabs a fistful of Benjamin’s jumper, then jerks him forward. And maybe also in the way he smashes their mouths together in a manner that makes Ben’s hands fly up and his body jolt.

  Followed by some very similar reactions from me.

  At the very least I have to grab a hold of my desk to stop my body from sliding off my chair. And though I do my best to keep any and all response soundless, I know a little gasp escapes.

  Benjamin Tate is making out with Aidan Harcroft, in my office. It’s like the plot of some teen movie, if teen movies featured a lot of intense gay sex. I could almost put a camera on them both and sell the footage on eBay, because oh the sight is something else.

  Ben isn’t so much kissing Aidan as melting all over him, and it’s a testament to Aidan’s composure and wiry strength that they remain standing. I’m starting to think I’m really going to get them fucking on my office floor – though with the added bonus of a front-row seat.

  Seriously, I have a front-row seat to Aidan thrusting his tongue into Ben’s mouth – because that’s what he does. He gets a hand in Ben’s hair and then he just uses whatever he can lick or bite at, until Ben actually starts moaning.

  He moans into Aidan’s mouth, in the exact way he’s done for me a dozen times before. Helplessly, desperately, and oh so ready to do anything – though I can hardly blame him. I can see how hard he still is inside the trousers he so neatly zipped up.

  And I can see it better when Aidan’s kind enough to outline the whole thing with one grasping, groping hand.

  ‘Still stiff, then,’ he says, and I get the strongest urge to laugh. As though he’s going to fall down on a matter like that, when he’s getting mauled and rubbed by another human being!

  Clearly, Aidan doesn’t know Ben at all – but that’s OK. That’s good.

  It’s OK for it to be good, isn’t it?

  ‘Get on your knees,’ he says, and the only thing that seems to make Ben hesitate is that hand on his cock. I can tell he doesn’t want to give that up so easily, but the pull of actually getting to do what he’s only ever confessed to me before is clearly too much.

  He gets on his knees.

  And I almost cover my eyes with one hand.

  In fact, I get so close to doing that very thing that I end up touching somewhere schoolmarm-ish, like the collar of my shirt. And when Aidan puts a too-fierce hand in Ben’s hair and tugs him roughly to the long, lean cock he’s just exposed, I get even closer to my eyes.

  I put my fingers to my lips and press there, hard, as my no-longer-just-almost-boyfriend blindly rubs his face against whatever is presented to him in a way I recognise. It’s that eager, seeking heat sort of thing he does, for far more typical things like the side of my face or the inside of my thigh.

  And now he’s here, doing it to someone’s cock.

  Until said man yanks on that fistful of hair and gets him back on the right track—which in this case is Ben using his mouth and his tongue to slick that stiff length from root to tip.

  ‘That’s it, baby,’ Aidan says, and I swear I don’t know what’s worse: the fact that Ben is greedily going at all of this, or the fact that Aidan just called him ‘baby’.

  And oh lord, Benjamin likes it. I can tell he does because the second the word is out he loses some of his focus. That eager lapping becomes a stuttering sort of fumble, and he caps it off with a long, low moan, right into dark fur that surrounds Aidan’s cock.

  It’s almost like he’s fallen face first into the man’s groin, but I understand why. I wouldn’t be able to stay upright either with someone above me saying the things he is.

  ‘Here, here,’ Aidan tells him, and then he just takes his cock in one hand and Benjamin’s face in the other, and does exactly as he had promised: he eases his now glossy and extremely swollen dick into Ben’s mouth.

  At which point I let the breath out that I hadn’t realised I was holding. Unfortunately for me, however, it comes with a little side order of gasping – or maybe moaning – and when I break the silence in the room with it, Aidan turns his head and looks at me.

  All I can say is: thank God I didn’t really cover my eyes. His expression is painful enough on its own, without me exposing myself any further – because I have exposed myself. I’m flushed so red I could pass for a postbox, and I’m leaning right over my desk like a maniac. I’m practically a gawker at the scene of some crime, and the scything grin he gives me only confirms this.

  ‘Surprising how arousing it is to watch someone fuck, isn’t it?’ he says, but he’s not done yet. I’m starting to think all his sentences need a little kicker on the end, just to polish the listener off. ‘Though I’ll be honest, it’s not half as good as getting this sweet mouth around my cock. Dear Lord, Harding – you could have told me how good he is.’

  All I can think in response to that little doozy is: how could I?

  I don’t have a cock to judge just how good Benjamin’s blowjob technique is – though in all fairness to Aidan, I do have eyes. And I can absolutely see the hollowing of Benjamin’s cheeks as he sucks hard on the swollen head of Aidan’s cock. I can make out the slight flicker of his tongue as he slides back up that length, lapping and licking as he goes.

  And I remember how all of those things felt when applied to a sort of similar body part. I can recall the feeling of him just sort of … rubbing at my clit with his tongue, and it makes answering easier.

  ‘I wanted him all to myself,’ I say.

  Which has the virtue of at least being true.

  ‘And now that you’re watching someone fuck his mouth? Now how do you feel?’

  Again, the truth collars me.

  ‘I’ve never been so aroused in my life,’ I reply, but he doesn’t make me pay for it. In truth, I don’t think he’s going to make me pay for any of this, because Aidan isn’t like that. He’s always discreet about everything, even when ‘everything’ is him getting sucked off while he says a series of very dirty things.

  ‘Ah, me neither. His mouth is unbelievable – so hot and wet and ohhh yeah, that’s it. Just like that. Stroke it while you suck me.’

  Benjamin obeys, but not with any sort of ease. He’s shaking so hard now that each little shudder is practically passing through him and into Aidan, and when he finally gets a hold of the base of that cock he has to cling to something with his other hand.

  Like the tight little curve of Aidan’s ass.

  ‘You want to come too, kid – huh? Get that big dick of yours out,’ Aidan says, in response – and it’s obvious why. Benjamin’s so far gone he doesn’t seem to know what day it is, and that eager sucking he’s doing is getting sloppier and sloppier.

  By the time he actually fumbles down his zipper he’s almost drooling, though Aidan doesn’t seem to mind.

  ‘Uhhh yeah. Yeah. I’m gonna shoot – if you want to do it too, you’d better hurry,’ he says, and I almost feel like telling him: there’s going to be no problem on that score. Ben’s so hard and so aroused he can hardly bear to touch himself, and from all the way over here I can see and hear how wet the head of his cock is. He’s practically dripping on my carpet before he’s finished a stroke, and Aidan’s moaning declaration that he’s coming only gets him closer.

  And then Aidan actually does it – spurting thickly over Ben’s tongue – and it’s enough. It’s enough to make him cling to Aidan again, and jerk at his own cock just that little bit harder, and finally, finally …

  He shudders and gasps and locks up tight, before striping my carpet with thick, lengthy ribbons of come. It goes just about everywhere – all over Aidan’s trouser leg too, before finishing with a thick dribble over hi
s own fist – but he doesn’t seem to care. After it’s done he actually sort of sprawls back like a young maiden, swooning, and if it wasn’t for his sleepy but open eyes I’d suspect he’d lapsed into unconsciousness.

  Even Aidan seems to imagine the same, because once he’s gathered himself a little and laughed about how awesome all of that was, he asks if Ben’s OK.

  And in reply, Ben murmurs: ‘Are you kidding?’

  Which is just awesome of him, I have to say. He deserves a round of applause for that performance, and he seems to know it – in fact it’s almost like he’s asking me with his eyes if that’s what I wanted from him. I can almost hear the words coming out of his mouth – and probably would have gotten them if it wasn’t for Aidan getting there first.

  ‘Is that what you had in mind?’ he says, but in all honesty I have no clue. I don’t know anything any more – I’m just oddly drained and mostly conflicted, and I can’t see my way out of either of those feelings.

  Plus it makes it all just that little bit harder, to see Aidan be so casual about everything. He doesn’t care, I think, but then – he doesn’t have anything invested. He can just turn before he gets to the door and survey us – me still at my desk, Benjamin spread like butter over the carpet – and say something blasé, like: ‘Call me, if you ever feel like doing this again,’ before taking his eminently cool and collected leave.

  While I sit here, shell-shocked, in the rubble of my life.

  Chapter Thirteen

  If we sit like this any longer, in complete silence, I think I’m going to go insane. All I can hear is the rain drumming against the roof of his car, and the occasional swish of the windscreen wipers. I don’t know why I agreed to get in here, to be honest – but now I am I have to make the most of things.

  It’s pretty clear that the rain’s not going to stop any time soon and allow me to get out and go to my own car. I have to do this instead, though thankfully when I actually work up the courage to look at him he doesn’t seem anxious, or disturbed.

  He seems content.

  He’s leant his head back against the seat, and his eyes are near-closed. There’s a little wistful smile on his lips, as though he’s just happy to be in here with me, enveloped in this strange silence.

  Either that, or he’s remembering everything that’s just happened – all the craziness and that thing and then that other thing … oh God. God.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I blurt out, though after I’ve done it I’ve no idea what I’m aiming it at. It doesn’t seem like pleasure should be something I’m apologising for, but then again … there’s all this other stuff underneath.

  Stuff that he’s apparently aware of.

  ‘You hoped I’d say no, right?’ he says, and then I can’t quite bring myself to look at him. It sounds so ridiculous once he’s said it out loud, and even worse – cold. Really, really cold, and unnatural.

  I’m unnatural.

  ‘Sort of,’ I tell him, but that comes out like there’s something wrong with me. It’s not even a comfort when he’s kind about it either, because in a way I don’t want him to be. I want him to tell me that I’m no good, and that maybe I should get out of the car and walk in the rain like the tragic heroine of some melodramatic novel.

  Even though I’d reject something like that out of hand if it landed on my desk.

  ‘I wish I could tell you it would work, as a way to get rid of me. But you have to know by now that it won’t.’

  Something bright and sharp bubbles up in my chest. And unfortunately it makes the words I then try to babble come out very strangely indeed. They’re so high they’re practically attracting bats, and I even do something mad like clutch pearls I don’t have, as I’m trying to force them out.

  ‘I wasn’t trying to get rid of you, Ben. I’m not trying to get rid of you – I just –’ but he cuts me off before I can finish. He puts a hand over my hand, and that’s enough to silence me.

  His words just kind of finish the job really.

  ‘It’s OK. I’m not exactly great at making kinky games turn into a relationship either,’ he says, and after that I have to look away. I glance out of the window at the industrial park across the road, and pretend to be really interested in the way corrugated steel looks, washed in rain.

  ‘Is that what this is?’ I say finally, but he doesn’t balk at answering.

  ‘Yes. I’m pretty sure we’re in a relationship. I think you might even be my girlfriend – though admittedly one who invites dudes into her office to do things to me.’

  Of course once he’s done so, I can’t help throwing up my hands.

  I mean really – is that what he thinks? That I invite guys into our … our … thingie in order to force him into saying no? I’m pretty sure he does, but have to be sure.

  ‘I didn’t invite him! It just … happened,’ I say, then I wait for his response. I wait for him to tell me he doesn’t believe me – frankly, I don’t believe me and I’m the one who had to process Aidan just waltzing into my office to fuck my boyfriend’s face – and when it doesn’t come, I don’t know how to deal with it.

  He just says: ‘Are you serious? Whoa. Wish you’d let me know that before it got going – I’d have probably come in my pants the second he got a hold of my hair.’

  And I’m left stranded, back in Over Complicating Things Land.

  Because really, none of this is a big deal. It’s all pretty straightforward: he likes me, and he likes to do any of the kinky things I seem to need so desperately, and all of this should be easy, so easy.

  Except that none of those things sound straightforward at all to me. I’m wrong inside and I know I am, because the second he says that he wants to be with me, all my feelings just kind of rush out, in one big glut.

  ‘You don’t get it, Ben – I don’t even understand what that means. All of those things that other people do all the time – the normal things, like going on dates and holding hands and taking baths together … I’ve never had any of that. Sometimes my life is like looking through glass at everything that everyone else does so easily, and I don’t … I can’t …’

  I can’t change that, my mind finishes for me. It has to, because my voice is actually starting to crack a little and I haven’t a clue why. My life isn’t so miserable really. I’m not sad. I’m not.

  But I let him take me back to his place anyway.

  * * *

  There’s something about the silence he seems to have sunk into that’s very comforting in a way I can’t quite explain. I suppose it makes it hard to ask questions or offer protests – which is useful when he wants to do something that makes my insides turn to honey.

  Like carry me slowly up the stairs inside his actual house.

  Because he doesn’t have a sloppy, grimy apartment in a neighbourhood that reeks of patchouli and students, as I’d always somehow imagined. It’s not even an apartment – he has a narrow three-storey house on the kind of street most people are intimidated by, with the railings around each neat little square of garden and all the doors painted a glossy, bold colour.

  His door is red, and it has a brass knocker.

  And those are all the things I concentrate on, while I hold onto him tightly and maybe press my face into his shoulder. I mean, I can’t actually look at him, as he does a thing like this. I can’t focus on it as it happens, or ask him questions about it, or wonder what exactly is going on.

  Though that’s mainly because I kind of know already what he’s doing here. I know, and the idea is persuading my heart to pound in this heavy, sickly sort of manner. I can almost feel each beat shuddering through me, and it doesn’t get any better when he sets me down in his neat, warm little bathroom, and starts slowly peeling off my clothes, one item at a time.

  First the jacket goes, neatly folded on top of the wicker washing basket he’s got in here. Then he works on my skirt, easing down the zipper in such a deliberate, careful sort of fashion that I almost stop him right there.

  It’s a proud mome
nt for me when I manage to resist. I’m breathing in this strange, shaky sort of way and I know my face may well be wet, but I don’t tell him to just leave it at that. I let him kneel on the black and white tiled floor – so pretty and modern and clean, in a way I never imagined him being – and lift each one of my legs to take off my punishing heels.

  Like Cinderella in reverse, I think, and then I have to hold onto him just a little bit. I need the support of his broad shoulders to help me stand here in just my panties and half a shirt while he holds me close inside that lovely, low gaze of his.

  But it’s OK. It’s fine. I’m allowed to do this now because although parts of me are freaking out, I understand where this is going. I know what he’s trying to do, and it’s silly and probably too sickly for my palate and rationally speaking it’s not going to help anything.

  But oh, it’s too lovely to turn away from. It’s the contrast, I think – between something so tender and loving, and the cool, silent way he’s going about it. As though he knows that I couldn’t bear to hear a thousand gooey words on the subject before it all happened, and understands that this is the way it has to be.

  I need borders, I need rules, I need things to be calm and still. And though he does a million things that should be anything but – like kissing me, gently; like running a bath for me; like pulling my back to his chest as we lie there, floating, in the warm water – I can bear it. I can take it, because it’s Ben, my Ben.

  Plus, the first words he says to me after my little outburst are these:

  ‘So that’s the main one. What were the others you mentioned, again?’

  * * *

  I think I actually fall asleep like that, with my cheek just resting against his chest. It’s easy to, really, in the muggy heat of his bathroom, surrounded by him and the water and the soft scent of the ridiculous bath salts he’s put in here.

  I can see why people like doing this, I really can. It’s certainly more impressive than coming home after a long day of intense threesomes, to a nearly cold shower and a thin sliver of soap and a bitterly hard towel that only reminds you of what you should have done yesterday instead of staying at work until 10:30 at night, again: Buy new ones.‘Are you awake?’ I ask him, though it seems strange that this is the first thing I’ve said since he decided to put me through my normal relationship paces. I didn’t answer him about the other ones, and he hadn’t seemed to mind – which is good.