by Sidney Bell
Sullivan was restraining him but not hurting him, and as Tobias simply stood there, Sullivan’s grip loosened further until his hands were only resting on Tobias’s arms.
Sullivan’s gaze was uncompromising, but pleased, too, the tilt of his head somehow... Tobias didn’t have the word for it, but it sent fear and craving tumbling madcap together through every nerve in his body.
It was the same thing he’d seen in Sullivan’s eyes the other day in the motel, when he’d pushed Tobias against the wall, when the air between them had shifted and gone loaded and raw in a way that had made Tobias’s blood go heavy and slow and bewildered. Something seemed to click inside him now, some switch that flipped so that his brain stuttered to a halt, and he just, he just...
There weren’t words for what he was feeling, but his body knew what he meant, what he wanted.
He went to his knees.
* * *
Well, this was interesting.
Tobias couldn’t fight for shit—if Sullivan had been interested in doing more than containing him for a minute while they got their tempers in order, there’d have been no contest—so Sullivan wasn’t surprised to feel him give up and sag against the wall. Sullivan wasn’t surprised that his dick was hardening, either, because Tobias was attractive in addition to being an asshole, and it was deeply satisfying to finally feel like he had one up on that superiority complex.
He was more surprised about the whole Tobias-going-limp thing.
Or not limp. He was going down, down on his knees, and that took a second of adjustment, because he hadn’t expected Tobias to reach for Sullivan’s fly, to tentatively rest his hands there for a moment in a silent question before opening his jeans, especially not in this dingy, cluttered hallway, with their tension and anger still emanating from the walls around them.
He hadn’t put any real thought into Tobias’s style of getting down, but if he’d been forced to guess, he’d have imagined some mildly snotty Harvard girl who went to college as much to find a husband as to study, a girl who started a fashion line but crapped out on it a few years in when she married her med-school boyfriend, who seemed like a nice guy on the surface but took advantage of people without blinking. Sullivan would have guessed at a lot of missionary, except on the rare Saturday nights when Tobias and his fictional fiancée had a couple too many and busted out a little doggy-style. Maybe, if the vibes he’d been picking up were accurate, the Harvard girl might be a Harvard boy, but the tone wouldn’t change. It’d be bland and manipulative and occasionally sweet in a superficial sort of way.
Wow, had he been off.
“Will you let me? Can I?” Tobias’s words were slow and heavy, almost like he was drugged. Tobias’s hands were slow and heavy too, as they worked his zipper down, hesitating again to give Sullivan a chance to protest, and then, when Sullivan didn’t, they tugged his dick out through the opening in his boxers, and God, that felt good. It’d been more than a year since he’d known a hand other than his own, and it was such a simple touch, an easy, too-dry brush of skin on skin, but Sullivan’s spine went liquid all the same.
“Let me?” Tobias whispered. “I want to. I...want to give you something, I need—” He stopped, looking confused and frustrated and searching.
Letting himself be guided by an instinct that had gotten him in trouble more than a few times, Sullivan reached down and tunneled one hand into those romantic curls, taking hold and tugging, hard enough that it would hurt.
Tobias’s eyes slipped half-closed and his breath shuddered out. “Yeah, that’s... I need... I don’t...”
Holy shit.
Tobias might not know the word for what he needed but Sullivan did. He’d heard subs talk about the ravenous emptiness that echoed inside them sometimes, the desperate need to give, to serve, and the way it became vital to everything they were in that moment.
If there was a Dom alive who could resist a sub in that headspace, he’d never met them.
“Fuck,” he said, and eased Tobias forward. Tobias showed no sign of disliking Sullivan’s regulation, instead pressing his face against Sullivan’s hip, breathing in, mouthing at the skin, nuzzling the crease of his thigh. His fingers tightened around Sullivan’s dick, giving it a couple of idle pulls, and then Tobias was taking him deep.
Too deep, actually, because he jerked back and coughed. “Easy,” Sullivan bit out, and Tobias leaned in again, his tongue working eagerly, his mouth wet and hot, and sucked hard, and oh, this wasn’t going to take long at all.
They hadn’t talked about limits or preferences or even a safe word, and Sullivan was probably the shittiest Dom in the world for going ahead with this anyway, but in his defense, it hadn’t been clear they’d need them until his dick was already out of his pants. He shook his head once, trying to clear it, and guided them into a shallow, slow rhythm despite the impulse to use Tobias’s mouth like it was his, to push and shove until he was practically in Tobias’s damn lungs, to watch Tobias’s eyes tear.
Sullivan had to keep it together, because it was one thing to suck off a guy you barely knew in his firetrap of a house, it was another thing to let that guy fuck your mouth like he’d paid for it. There were degrees to how shitty Tobias might feel about this later, and Sullivan didn’t mind pissing off someone screwing him over, but there was a damn ravine’s worth of distance between that and fucking someone up sexually.
Tobias apparently disagreed. His hands went up to close on Sullivan’s where they were in his hair, gripping hard, the question in his blue eyes sharpening into a demand as they stared up at him, and Sullivan thought yep, okay, he wants this, this is actually happening.
Sullivan tightened his fingers and pushed forward into that impatient mouth once, a test of sorts. Tobias closed his eyes, let his hands fall to rest on his own thighs, and made a sound of such wrenched, hungry gratitude that Sullivan stopped worrying about how his interpretive skills were functioning.
It didn’t take long at all after that. He didn’t go as deep or hard as he would’ve liked, but no one could say he was holding back either, and Tobias knelt there and took it, expression going somnolent, his whole body receptive and willing. Thank God for it, too, because Sullivan was sweating and grunting and completely losing his shit.
He came with a last series of hard thrusts, deeper than any so far, the sensation of Tobias choking around him less arousing than the fact that Tobias’s hands remained docile in his lap the whole time.
He opened his eyes to find that he was slumped forward over Tobias, one forearm propping him up against the wall, and Tobias was pushing against him, wrenching against him, and fuck—he’d, had he taken it too far? But no, Tobias was trying to get his jeans open while he was kneeling like this so he could jerk off, and his mouth was still working, gentle and sweet around Sullivan’s cock, so gentle, in fact, that post-orgasm sensitivity wasn’t a factor.
Sullivan pulled back anyway, ignoring Tobias’s moan of protest, and dropped to his knees as well. He pushed a few boards aside and guided Tobias flat on his back, yanking at his jeans until he could pull out Tobias’s dick—thick and pretty and hard, dripping at the tip. He stretched out beside Tobias and took him in hand, jerking slowly to start. Tobias made a soft, high sound, practically writhing, his kicking heels making drumming sounds on the boards at their feet, turning his face into Sullivan’s shoulder shyly, and that was so surprisingly charming that Sullivan had to lean down and put his mouth on Tobias’s throat, had to jerk harder and faster, had to lick against his skin and taste the salt there. He got lost in the wild moans Tobias gave up, in the way his hips moved, in the way he whispered please, please and Sullivan, helpless, said, “Take what you need, sweetheart,” and Tobias groaned and his dick jerked as he came all over his belly and Sullivan’s hand.
Chapter Eleven
Blissful silence.
Blissful stillness.
He was boneless and
lying in a bag of cotton balls. It was so soft here. It was so nice.
He was dimly aware of Sullivan moving against him, and he thought maybe he should make something of that, but Sullivan whispered something soothing, and Tobias settled back down into the sleepy, perfect haze of quiet.
Warm wetness settled against his belly and he blinked his heavy eyes open, caught sight of Sullivan cleaning him up with a washcloth, his touch considerate, and it was impossible not to smile. Then he was murmuring that Tobias should get up, and he really, really didn’t want to, but Sullivan was asking, and he probably had a good reason for it. He struggled upward, unworried when the boards shifted beneath him because Sullivan was ready, already holding him tight and close against his body. He was ushered into another room and eased onto a couch, and that was nice too, it was so plush and soft, and he sat there for a second breathing and staring at nothing, and it was all so very, perfectly quiet.
He had a glass of water now, and he was drinking it, and then Sullivan was guiding him to lie down, and Tobias put his head on Sullivan’s firm thigh, and there was a blanket and there were fingers in his hair, stroking, and he was safe and insulated and warm, and it was so wonderfully, exactly what he needed.
All he had to do was follow Sullivan’s directions. Sullivan would take care of everything. He’d made sure that Tobias came apart in a way that felt good, and he’d wanted Tobias and taken everything Tobias offered and he’d been grateful, Tobias had seen it in his face how much Sullivan had needed it too, and it’d felt so right to give Sullivan what he needed, and it was so soft and safe and quiet here that he just...floated.
* * *
He hadn’t been sleeping, so he didn’t really wake up per se, but there was definitely a span of time during which he had been distant from reality and a moment when he became aware of it again.
Sullivan was still stroking his head, and the TV was on, the volume low on some construction show and Tobias came back in bits and pieces until he realized he was concerned for the nice people whose bathroom had been wrecked by a shady contractor. He still wasn’t quite all there when the episode ended, so he missed some of the summation.
“Did they find him?” he asked, referring to the contractor who should be in jail. Wow, his voice sounded thick as syrup.
“I don’t think so,” Sullivan said quietly. “But the host guy fixed it for them. They’re all right.”
“That’s good.”
“Back with me?”
“I think so?” Tobias thought about it for a minute. “Yeah, I think so.”
“Want to sit up?”
That was the last thing he wanted, but he was starting to need the bathroom, so he supposed he didn’t have much choice. His head swam when he was upright, but Sullivan steadied him.
He should explain. He’d sort of gone to pieces, but he wasn’t sure he could explain why, and besides, Sullivan didn’t look mad or like he expected an explanation. He seemed thoughtful more than anything else. Tobias asked, “The good bathroom’s upstairs?”
“Through my bedroom, last on the right.”
Tobias went up the creaking stairs at a quicker pace than his legs were interested in, but the need was becoming downright urgent, so he didn’t take the time to notice much about his surroundings until after he’d peed and washed his hands. His belly was dry and clean, and he distantly remembered Sullivan cleaning him up.
He stared at himself in the mirror and wondered why he wasn’t upset about what’d happened.
He’d have thought it would be inevitable. He wasn’t good with change, especially abrupt change, and this qualified, didn’t it? This—this angry sex that’d given way to a feeling entirely new and possibly dangerous, it was a big thing, wasn’t it? He should be obsessing, but instead he felt calm and centered.
The more he thought about it, the more certain he became, too. He didn’t know how to describe the experience, but it hadn’t been alien. Somehow he’d known this existed, even before he had the words to describe it or the knowledge to look for it. He must’ve known, because when Sullivan had taken him by the hair, he’d thought yes, right, this.
In relationships in the past, sex had given him a frustrated, empty feeling. He’d be overcome by the sense that he was too mobile, too jagged, a puzzle piece jammed into a bad-fitting space. Like he was waiting for something he desperately needed but couldn’t define. And without that definition, he couldn’t know.
He knew now.
He knew how it felt to slip into a place like he belonged there. Knew how much peace there could be in the little pocket of time when he’d been tethered to the earth, seemingly, by Sullivan’s will alone. A strange, edged quiet had taken up within him, a quiet that still hadn’t fully dissipated, and it was sublime. This wasn’t a change at all—it was an unlocking.
It wasn’t only the peace he wanted, though. He swallowed hard and it hurt, the ache in his throat enough to make him feel hazy again. He wanted everything that came before the peace too: Sullivan sliding hot and large and demanding into his mouth, pulling his hair, forcing his way deeper near the end. It’d hurt and frightened him and made him choke even as he’d closed his eyes and thought more. He flushed red at the memory, getting a delicious thrill from the shamelessness of it, and his dick twitched in his jeans though he should’ve been satisfied by this point.
It was like meth. Tobias had read up on it after the whole thing with Church and the Krayevs eight months ago, and he knew that for some people trying meth just once fundamentally changed their brain chemistry, creating profound addiction that would rock the rest of their lives. He thought that might be what he’d experienced. He already craved more.
Tobias supposed they’d had casual sex.
He wasn’t innocent, but he’d always preferred to know a partner well before embarking on something physical, both because he liked the intimacy of it and because it helped him feel less anxious about pleasing his partners. He’d never slept with someone outside of a relationship; he was admittedly out of his depth.
Still, he’d expected casual sex to feel sort of...casual, and this had been anything but.
To him, anyway.
At that thought, his stomach rolled over, and the last of his lovely buzz vanished.
Who knew what Sullivan was thinking? Tobias hadn’t asked for what’d happened, not with words anyway, but neither had Sullivan, now that he thought about it. Neither of them had said yes or no or if or how. They’d followed some unspoken form of communication and it’d been perfect—on his side, at least. He hoped it was true for Sullivan as well.
He’d had sex with a man he’d known for all of five days, a man who should hate him. A man who had tattoos and a mohawk and worked as a private detective and was impossibly cool, not to mention decent enough to take care of Tobias when he’d been vulnerable despite all the reasons he had to be a jerk. Sullivan was a good man, a slightly weird, moderately hyper, hot-as-sin, occasionally annoying good man.
A man who liked to live by the seat of his pants, no doubt. He probably didn’t do relationships. He’d probably be uncomfortable if Tobias suggested otherwise. In fact, this would probably last only until the case was over.
Fine. That was fine, actually. Tobias could be casual. He was doing all sorts of things lately that he’d never thought to do. And people had casual sex all the time. Why shouldn’t he be one of them? The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea. Tobias Benton could be the kind of person who followed his urges and didn’t think about the consequences and had casual sex with tattooed private detectives. In fact, that sounded downright excellent. He’d milk this dark, strange power between them until he’d gotten what he wanted, and once he’d found Ghost, he’d say good-bye to Sullivan with a little wave and a thank you kindly and move on.
Before going downstairs, he paused to take a slow look at Sullivan’s room. There wasn’t much here: a box
spring and a mattress without a bedframe, the sheets and pillowcases mismatched, one of those Rubbermaid four-drawer storage containers full of clothes, an old milk crate of odds and ends, including a bottle of vitamins, a Kindle, some wires and cords.
Everything Sullivan owned was designed to be transitory. He’d said it himself earlier—he didn’t like to stay in one place. Sullivan was a guy with wanderlust. It wouldn’t be long before he wandered away from Tobias, too.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, making him jump. He found a text from Mirlande: where are you? Ruby’s performance starts in forty-five minutes. Are you riding with me and Guy? If you are, you better be on your way.
“Oh, shit.” Tobias hurried downstairs, typing out a reply that he would meet everyone at Boettcher, freaking out about how he was going to manage to get back to the motel, shower, and still make it on time—he was not going to his little sister’s concert reeking of sex—and...he didn’t have his car. It was at the motel. Sullivan had been driving all day.
He blundered into the living room at full speed. “Can you take me to the motel?”
“What?”
“I have to go. I’m sorry. I’m—my sister, she’s—I have to go.”
Sullivan climbed to his feet. “Is she all right?”
Tobias had no idea where his car keys were. Where the hell had he put his keys? “Yeah, no, it’s nothing like that, it’s... I promised I would be there for her performance—she’s a violinist—and I forgot. I’m so late, and I can’t beg off; she’s got abandonment issues. Well, we all have abandonment issues, I suppose. Adopted kids. It’s pretty standard. And I’m her favorite, though God knows why, since I can’t seem to—”
“Here.” Sullivan held out Tobias’s keys. “They fell out of your pocket while you were lying on the couch.”
“Oh, thank you, you’re...” Tobias stuttered to a halt, struck by the tension in Sullivan’s mouth, in the way his brow pinched. He realized suddenly how this looked. “Hey, so about, uh, the sex.”