by Wayward Ink
“So stop,” Trace blurted, then clamped his hand over his mouth.
Finn frowned, cocking his head. “Stop what? I don’t have time to step back and stop working on them, it’s too close to—”
“No,” Trace said, finding the courage to interrupt him. “Stop second-guessing your work. It’s brilliant and unique and you put so much effort into it you shouldn’t be so down on yourself. Besides, sometimes the things people think are mistakes turn out to be something amazing.”
Finn’s eyes widened at that, and for a moment Trace was afraid he’d stepped over the line, so he turned his attention back to his food and began shoveling it into his mouth.
“Thanks,” Finn said, causing Trace to nearly choke on a mouthful. “I needed to hear that. I always get so wound up before a show I forget whether I’m coming or going. I’d take a day off, but I really can’t afford to.”
“You should think about the bookstore statue. I-I mean, it’s none of my business and all, I just think what you said made sense, about it being somewhere people with money would see it. If they can afford to order their own, you could get a lot more business that way.”
“Yeah, I know. And you’re right, I need to make the time to meet with this guy, but if I’m gonna do that, then I’m gonna need to add some stuff to your list. We might even have to stay late a couple times this week.”
“That’s fine. I don’t mind doing more, and I don’t mind staying late, either,” Trace replied with a shrug. “Whatever you need me to do.”
Finn nodded, a slow smile crossing his face. The expression warmed Trace inside, especially when he knew he had a part in putting it there.
“FUCK!” FINN ROARED and pitched a metal part across the room, the heavy thud an exclamation point on the crass word.
Trace moved to retrieve the part.
“Leave it,” Finn snapped, and Trace shivered. God, he loved the tone of command in Finn’s voice, the harsh, clipped, barked words that made him want to slide to his knees and suck Finn until his boss smiled and threaded his fingers through Trace’s hair. It was so rare for Finn to smile. “Come here.”
Trace’s feet were moving before the words finished registering. Finn’s firm hand clasped Trace’s shoulder and squeezed. “I need you to do something very important for me. You can’t screw this up, understand.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. I have a very important client who commissioned the small sculptures we boxed up last night. I was planning on delivering them tomorrow morning, but apparently he has to have them right this fuckin’ moment since he’s having a dinner party tonight. I need you to take them over, since I have to finish this piece tonight for the gallery show. Uncrate them, arrange them however he wants, and collect the final payment for me. Think you can handle that?”
“I can manage,” Trace said. “I won’t fuck it up.”
Finn studied him and reached out to lift a long strand of Trace’s hair, his knuckle brushing against the side of Trace’s neck. “It’s getting a bit long. It suits you, but maybe we need to take you to get it trimmed up a bit.”
With those smoldering eyes gazing down at him, Trace could only gulp and squirm.
“Come on, let me get you the address and help you load the truck. The quicker you get it done, the sooner you can be back here where you belong.”
Trace followed in Finn’s wake, wishing he meant the part about belonging in a completely different sense.
“GET YOUR HEAD outta your ass or I’ll remove it for you!” Finn barked. He towered over Trace, hands on his hips, looking down at the mess Trace had made of another simple project. In the month since Finn had trusted him with that first delivery, he’d started giving Trace other projects more frequently, to varying degrees of success. The third time wasn’t the charm in this case; in fact, it was the worst fuck-up of the day.
Shivering, Trace stammered out a, “Sorry.”
“Not good enough,” Finn snapped, stepping into Trace’s space and letting his eyes drift over him. He reached out and cupped Trace’s jaw, shocking him with the contact, but that didn’t stop Trace from pressing his face into the touch and seeking more.
“Is that what you need?” Finn asked, voice dipping low. “Do you need me to fix it for you, clean up your mistakes? Mistakes I’m coming to believe you’re making on purpose.”
Trace shivered more at the comment, and the smirk that tugged at the corners of Finn’s lips.
“I see the way you watch me; it’s impossible not to notice.”
“I….” Trace felt his face flush. He couldn’t lie, he didn’t want to deny it, but fear surged through him at the prospect of losing his job and being tossed back out into the streets.
“We’ll have a nice long conversation tonight, you and I,” Finn stated, his severe look telling Trace there would be no avoiding it. Dread pooled in the pit of Trace’s stomach.
“Fix your mistakes and get the other two done without any screw-ups,” Finn instructed, before heading back to his own work.
Trace completed the tasks properly, his fear growing with every passing minute that put them closer to the end of the day. Finn said little until after dinner, both of them too hungry for small talk anyway. But once the dishes had been washed and put away, Finn ordered Trace into the living room.
“Sit,” Finn said, indicating the ottoman in front of the couch. It put them face to face, a fact that made Trace blush and try to look away.
“I need you to look at me,” Finn said. “I want to see your eyes when we have this conversation.”
“O-okay,” Trace stammered, trying to sit up straighter.
“Tell me why you make me have to repeat my instructions to you.”
“I don’t mean to.”
Finn’s response was an arched eyebrow and the tapping of his fingers against his wrist. “Try again.”
Trace’s blush deepened, but he stopped himself from looking away. “I like the sound of your voice. I like it when you tell me what to do.”
“Why?”
Trace frowned. The truth was hard to put into words, but Finn was patient.
“I… I guess it’s because it makes me feel safe, like I belong. As long as you have something for me to do, I can stay close to you.”
“Close to me, or close to this house, the shop, the security of knowing you have a safe place to sleep at night?” Finn asked a little harshly.
“You,” Trace responded. “I want to be with you.”
“And if I told you to get on your knees right now and suck my cock?” Finn growled.
Trace slid from his seat to his knees in an instant, sliding his hands up Finn’s thighs, eager eyes searching Finn’s face.
Finn reached out, caught a fistful of Trace’s hair, and urged him up until their lips met in a harsh, passionate kiss. Trace was panting by the time they broke apart, the intensity of Finn’s gaze making him duck his head again.
“No,” Finn said, his voice both rough and gentle—soft in a way that Trace wasn’t used to hearing from him. “I need you to listen to me and hear my words, okay?”
“O-okay.”
“From here on out, if you need something, you tell me, got it?”
Trace could only bite his bottom lip and stare.
“I asked you a question; I expect an answer,” Finn said, harshness creeping back into his tone.
“I-I got it,” Trace managed.
“Good. Now, answer me this, have you ever given a blow job before?”
Trace shook his head; in truth, he’d never done anything beyond kissing, and that was with a friend in high school who’d been as curious as Trace.
“Have you ever received one?”
Trace blushed and moved to duck his head, but Finn was faster and caught him beneath the chin, holding his gaze.
“I’ve only ever kissed before,” he finally admitted, feeling his face heat up even more and hating the fact that Finn wouldn’t let him look away. Instead, Finn chuckled.
�
�That’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
“I-I know, I just….” He shrugged, at a loss for words, and then Finn was leaning closer and taking possession of his lips with a slow, teasing kiss, swiping his tongue over Trace’s lips as if begging to be let inside. This was familiar ground, and Trace kissed back, gripping Finn’s arms when he deepened the kiss.
Those steady, persistent kisses grew into something urgent, almost desperate, and Finn pulled back with a groan.
“Please,” Trace muttered, not even sure what he was asking for.
“Please, what; I need you to tell me what you need,” Finn grumbled as he rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze hooded and intense enough to make Trace squirm.
“Don’t wanna stop.”
Finn licked his upper lip and stood, reaching toward Trace and hauling him up to shakily stand. With a tug, they began moving toward the hallway, the faintest hint of uncertainty kicking in when they reached Finn’s bedroom. It was the one room Trace hadn’t been in before.
Finn leaned in and kissed him, chasing all his hesitation away. He broke the kiss only long enough to tug Trace’s T-shirt off before diving back in to kiss him again. With practiced ease, he moved from Trace’s lips to his throat, nipping the skin lightly, trailing feather-soft kisses over his shoulder and up his neck. He pressed Trace to lie on the bed and kissed his way down the center of his chest, licking over his nipples until they stood up. He nipped at them, too, making Trace squirm. Trace carded his fingers through Finn’s hair, hesitant at first, but when Finn groaned at the feel of Trace touching his cheek, Trace caressed him more, and was rewarded with more sounds.
Trace whined as he felt the button of his jeans undone and his zipper pulled down, Finn’s hands sliding beneath him to raise him up so he could maneuver Trace’s jeans and underwear off of him. Naked with a man for the first time in his life, Trace longed for a blanket, afraid he was too skinny for Finn to enjoy looking at him.
Trace jerked at the first swipe of Finn’s tongue on his inner thigh, then laughed as Finn’s hair tickled him when Finn moved his head to kiss further down his leg. Finn’s firm hands latched onto his hips and held him down as he licked and kissed more, making Trace squirm. Finn’s touch was warm and possessive, spreading Trace’s legs apart, giving him more access to kiss and lick, and when he finally took Trace in his mouth, it tore a gasp from Trace, along with a hoarse curse.
The sensation was unlike anything Trace had ever felt before. Pleasure overrode thought before a white haze short-circuited everything. When he came back to himself, Finn had crawled up behind him on the bed and was holding him close, stroking his hair back from his sweaty brow.
“Now you know what a blow job feels like,” Finn rasped in his ear, and Trace shivered, because indeed he did.
THE SKY SPIT a steady drizzle on him as he walked. Trace pulled his collar up and brushed his sodden hair from his eyes. From that moment in the bedroom, Finn had discovered more needs and desires in Trace than he’d ever realized he had. Every first had been an awakening, and he’d come to learn how much he enjoyed following Finn’s commands and allowing Finn to control him. It wasn’t only that he wished to follow orders but also how good he felt when he could earn words of praise from the prickly man.
More than that, it was the way Finn took such care with his body, and the trust Trace placed in him. The way he always seemed to know when Trace had had enough, even before Trace realized it himself. The gentle way he held him after; cleaned him, kissed him, whispered how good Trace had been, how beautiful he was when he submitted. Trace didn’t think his looks were anything special, but Finn was forever praising his amazing emerald eyes, how he loved to stare into them and see Trace’s passion and need shining bright.
A sharp wind blew cold air up the back of his hoodie and Trace shivered and sneezed. He had no idea where to go or what to do now that he’d lost the home he’d had for the past year. It was almost harder than the first time he’d fled to the city. At least then he hadn’t known what to expect; now, he knew exactly what awaited him. If only Finn hadn’t…. But he had, and now there was nothing left for Trace but to start all over again.
THE SHOCK OF the first heated drop of wax had Trace arching off the bed, moaning loudly. Finn let him sigh, settle, and squirm a little before dribbling more. This one caught his left nipple and he let out a hiss and mewed, begging for more. The hot feel of wax was one of Trace’s favorite sensations, and he’d practically begged Finn for it tonight.
“Look at you,” Finn growled. “Tied down, all spread out for me. I can watch every quiver of need, every flush that spreads across your body.”
Trace squirmed. Blindfolded, he couldn’t see Finn; he could only hear his voice.
“Oh God,” Trace moaned when the next splash of wax caught him on the inner thigh. He writhed, feeling the silk cords around his ankles and wrists keeping him in place. He blew out a breath, relaxing into the softness of the bed as his fingers uncurled. Another splash, this time across his abs, and his hands fisted as he moaned and sighed. The pauses between the splashes shortened, giving him little time to come down from each shock and driving his pleasure higher.
“God, you’re so beautiful, Trace,” Finn hissed, his voice husky with arousal. “I need to install a mirror over the bed so you can see yourself. So eager, so wanton, color-streaked and writhing for me. Tell me what you want.”
Wax splashed across his chest, down his side, over the curve of his shoulder, then back between his legs; first one thigh, then the other. Trace was so hard he felt like he was going to die if Finn didn’t touch him, fuck him.
“Please,” he gasped, rolling his hips frantically as wax slid across his hipbones and trickled lower.
“Please, what?” Finn growled, moving to dribble wax across Trace’s throat. He practically came off the bed at the hot feel of it, but the cords held him firm.
“Please, please fuck me!” Trace cried loudly, his whole body tense with need.
A low chuckle preceded the removal of the blindfold. Trace could see Finn’s cock standing out proudly, a bit of moisture at the tip that he’d love to lick away.
“And if I’m not ready to fuck you yet?” Finn asked, a wicked gleam in his eyes as he brought the candle to his lips and blew it out. “What if I think you’re not ready for me?”
Trace shuddered as he watched Finn climb onto the bed, candle in one hand, lube in the other.
“I think I know how to get you ready,” Finn said, his voice husky as he slicked the candle up.
“Ohhhhh,” Trace gasped as he felt the blunt end slide into him. So red, with four-and-a-half knobs left after the fun they’d had.
“You like that, don’t you? Like me opening you up, bit by bit. Can you feel the knobs stretching you, slowly, so slow, god, you’re so hot like this.”
“Ummmm.” Trace writhed, wanting more, so close to begging, knowing if he did Finn would give him what he wanted and end this exquisite torture. A torture he didn’t want to end.
“Tell me you like it.”
“God, yes!” Trace hissed, raising his hips, trying to force the candle in deeper, wanting more. Finn placed his hand on Trace’s pelvis and held him down, continuing the slow, gentle in-and-out rhythm of the knobby candle until Trace was shuddering uncontrollably.
“I think you’re ready for me now,” Finn said as he removed the candle and flung it behind him. Green eyes met gray for just a moment before Finn buried himself deep with a long, eager growl.
Trace cried out, urging Finn on as he took him roughly.
“God, more, more,” Trace screamed, thrashing his head from side to side as electric shockwaves rushed up his spine, bursting through his brain in a whitewash of pleasure.
Dimly, he heard Finn’s roar of completion, felt the stillness of his body and his hot seed bursting inside him. It seemed far away, though, and he felt floaty, drifting as Finn’s weight lifted off him. He felt the slight tug of the silk cords as Finn untied him, then he was envelo
ped in strong arms, anchoring him, holding him close. A hand stroked his hair, along his jawline, and a gentle voice murmured, calm and reassuring in his ear.
“Look at me, Trace. Open your eyes for me.”
“Mmmm,” Trace sighed and managed to flutter them open despite how heavy they felt.
“There you are,” Finn said, running his fingertips along Trace’s jaw. He was smiling, his usually stony eyes alight. Trace curled his body against Finn’s and inhaled his scent. Trace felt something pressed against his hand and opened his eyes enough to fumble for the water bottle. Shaking, he tried to lift it to his lips, only to have Finn take it away and hold it for him.
“I’ve got you,” Finn murmured. “Just drink slowly and take your time.”
Trace felt like his brain was stuffed with cotton. Everything was distant and hazy; even his body felt heavy and weak. He sipped the water and then gratefully ate the small pieces of protein bar Finn fed him until he no longer felt as if he were made of melting wax.
“I need to clean you up, then you can sleep,” Finn explained, hands urging Trace to get up. He did, reluctantly. In the bathroom, Finn peeled the wax off first, then helped Trace into a hot shower, washing every inch of him before quickly washing himself, getting them dried off and into bed. Soft caresses, so gentle, along his face and throat. His eyes heavy, he wanted to say one thing, but the words froze in his throat. Darkness claimed him then, an unspoken “I love you” still lingering on his lips.
THE RAIN HAD let up, but the wind continued to lash at him, like the memories that rushed through his mind. Finn had taught him so much, and not just in the bedroom. Things at the shop had changed, too. Trace no longer just ran errands and welded bases; now he filed down parts and polished pieces, received welding lessons every chance Finn could slip one in, and he was learning how to warp and shape the parts into statues himself. He even had plans drawn out for one he hoped to someday build.