Smiling like he’d been given a sodding trophy, Sam once more took hold of the shower curtain and pulled it gently away from Charlie’s body. “Do you remember what happened?”
“I don’t know. But here’s a thought. Maybe I slipped in the shower or something?”
“Well, at least we can rule out any conditions that bring a sudden alteration in mood.” Before Charlie had a chance to respond, Sam was babbling at him again. “How have you been feeling today, apart from pissed off with the world in general, I mean?”
His hand caressed Charlie’s leg as he spoke. Charlie watched with great interest as Sam probed around his ankle, casually forcing more pain into the joint than any hardened sadist had ever managed to inflict, and with only his bare hands to work with.
Sam had nice hands—strong, confident, big enough to wrap easily around another man’s wrists as he held him down and—
“Charlie, are you with me? I asked how you were feeling.”
“I just fell in the shower,” Charlie said. He cleared his throat and tried not to think about the fact his cock had already completely regained its stiffness in response to the nurse’s touch. “It’s no big deal.”
“Yes, but you’re not normally clumsy, are you?” Sam murmured. “Did you feel dizzy at all? Ever blacked out before?”
“I’m fine,” Charlie said, through gritted teeth.
“Have you taken anything in the last forty-eight hours? Any—?”
“I’m not high,” Charlie cut in. “I just got…” he waved his hand in a vague gesture, while trying to keep his wrist as still as possible in the process. “Distracted.”
It took him a few seconds to realise what kind of motion his injured hand was actually making. Apparently Sam was far quicker on the uptake.
“Oh.” The other man smiled slightly. His hand slid further up Charlie’s leg. It stopped short when he apparently noticed Charlie’s hard-on. Sam blinked. “Impressive,” he admitted. “Not many men could keep it up after a fall like that.”
Charlie shook his head, before dropping it back to rest on the edge of the tub behind him. “You really don’t get the whole masochism thing, do you? I like pain.”
For once, Sam didn’t immediately launch into another lecture on why leather was evil and should be avoided at all costs. Both Charlie and his pounding headache were very grateful.
“Were you thinking about us?”
“What sort of question is that?” Charlie demanded, squirming against the bottom of the bath. It was only a great deal of self-control, and the soreness of his limbs that stopped him trying to pull the shower curtain back over his exposed body.
He had made it quite clear to Sam on numerous occasions that he didn’t do vanilla men and that he had no interest in doing anything with him in particular. He’d been lying, of course, but that didn’t mean there was any reason why his friend shouldn’t have believed him.
“So,” Sam asked, as his fingers pressed carefully against Charlie’s leg, possibly checking for broken bones, possibly just groping him—Charlie wasn’t finding it very easy to tell right then. “What were we doing when we fell?”
“I didn’t say I was thinking about us!” Charlie snapped.
“You didn’t say you weren’t,” Sam said, so bloody calmly, Charlie would have loved to have possessed wrists capable of throttling him for it.
Charlie said nothing in response. If his arms had hurt less, he’d have petulantly folded them across his chest.
Sam, meanwhile, actually had the nerve to smile as he worked his way up Charlie’s body, checking his ribs and no doubt doing whatever it was that a nurse was supposed to do when they found someone on the floor in the shower.
From there, Charlie moved onto the painful process of assessing his hands and arms. There was no caress in Sam’s touch and no humour in his eyes as he studied the joints. He’d never looked more domly in his life.
In an effort not to stare, Charlie looked down at his own body. If he’d ever had any doubt over his masochistic credentials, the fact that his erection didn’t once waver during the prodding of his wrists confirmed that he really was wired to find the most painful processes as hot as hell.
Finally, Sam gave back Charlie’s wrists and sat back on his heels. “Okay.”
Charlie breathed a sigh of relief, but, before he had a chance to pull himself together, Sam had levered himself up on to his feet and was reaching for him again. “Let’s get you up.”
“I can—”
“By my count, you’ve got a twisted ankle, a sprained wrist and two broken fingers. And I haven’t even checked you for concussion yet. The only thing you’re in any condition for, is doing exactly what you’re told.”
Charlie glared mutinously up at the other man.
Sam glowered back at him, pale blond brows drawing together. Any concern that had been in Sam’s eyes a few minutes before seemed to be gone now. If anything, that only made him look more like Charlie’s fantasy dominant than ever.
Charlie frowned, but he didn’t have time to say anything before Sam leaned down and carefully helped him up until he was able to guide him to sit on the edge of the bath. Damn, but the guy was even stronger than he had been in Charlie’s fantasy—easily capable of lifting Charlie as if he weighed next to nothing. He’d probably be able to do the same if Charlie was getting screwed against a wall too…
“Dizzy?”
Charlie shook his head.
“Good. Just sit there for a minute.”
The other man grabbed one of the big bath towels and wrapped it around Charlie’s shoulders, tucking it close against his skin in an apparent effort to stop any chill getting deeper into his bones.
Sitting down on the edge of the bathtub next to him, Sam suddenly placed his hands on each side of Charlie’s face and turned him so they were face to face and staring into each other’s eyes. His hands were warm and strong. There was no way to get away from them, and Charlie wasn’t even sure he wanted to.
Still holding his gaze, Sam slid his fingers back into his wet hair and gently caressed his scalp. “Does that hurt?”
Charlie tried to shake his head but the other man’s hold on him made it impossible. Swallowing rapidly, Charlie had little choice but to resort to words. “No, it feels fine.”
“That’s good.” Sam smiled. “Despite your best attempts, it seems you’ll live after all.”
It took Charlie several seconds to work out what the other guy could be talking about. He stared vacantly up at his flat-mate for an embarrassingly long time before one brain cell elbowed its neighbour in the ribs and he realised that Sam had only been checking his head for bumps and bruises.
Charlie quickly dropped his gaze, suddenly uncertain about everything in the whole world.
“Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to dry you off and help you into the living room. Then I’ll see what I can do for your injuries. Okay?”
“Do I have a choice?” Charlie asked.
“Nope.” As he picked up another towel and gently patted Charlie’s hair with it, Sam seemed quite happy with that fact.
Much to his horror, Charlie found he wasn’t entirely miserable about it himself. The idea of just doing as the other man said still appealed just as much as it always had. “I’m not completely helpless!”
“Actually, right now, you are.” All of Sam’s attention seemed to be on his task, as if Charlie were merely an object to be worked on rather than a real person.
Charlie mentally rolled his eyes at himself as his cock got just a little harder the moment that idea lodged itself in his head. Grinding his teeth together, he tried to feel impatient while he waited out the other man’s fussing, but the desire simply wasn’t there. A large part of him welcomed the attention.
A towel covered hand wrapped around Charlie’s cock, stroking him as it dried him. A whimper filled the air. Charlie did his damnedest to avoid realising that weak little noise had come from him.
“Come on, let’s get y
ou to the sofa.”
Swiftly tossing the sodden towels into the hamper, Sam wrapped one arm around Charlie’s torso and helped him to his feet—or to his left foot anyway. Balanced precariously, unwilling to bring the sole of his other foot into contact with the bathroom tiles and risk another red hot spike being inserted into his instep, Charlie had little choice but to lean on his friend for support.
Hopping was never going to be a dignified mode of locomotion. It was only made more embarrassing by the way Charlie’s apparently now completely indelible hard-on bobbed in front of him with each one-legged lurch.
By the time they reached the living room, Charlie had never been more grateful to see a sofa in his life. He let out a sigh as he collapsed down against the well-worn leather and gently laid his head back on the arm rest. His eyes dropped closed. The leather was cold against his bare skin, but he couldn’t bring himself to give a damn. It was still a hell of a lot more comfortable than the bottom of the bath.
“Stay there.”
Charlie opened his eyes just in time to see Sam stride quickly out of the room. Half sitting up, Charlie looked at the door leading into his bedroom, wondering if he should be trying to escape and lock himself in there before he ended up embarrassing himself any further.
“Don’t even think about it,” Sam warned, as he appeared again, first aid box already in hand.
Charlie flopped back against the sofa with an even louder sigh. His eyes narrowed as he spotted Sam’s smile. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
The other man’s expression didn’t even falter. “It’s about time you had someone who looked after you rather than just beat the hell out of you.”
“I don’t need your approval,” Charlie snapped.
Sam raised an eyebrow.
“We share a flat. That doesn’t mean I give a damn what you think about me, or the doms I screw, or anything else.”
“It doesn’t mean I can’t give a damn about you though,” Sam murmured as he opened the first aid kit and took out a long length of bandage. “It doesn’t mean I can’t hate seeing you let guys use you, abuse you and—”
“Bloody hell,” Charlie hit his head back against the arm of the sofa in frustration. “Don’t you get it? I don’t let them do anything I don’t bloody well enjoy! I’m not getting whipped for their amusement, you know. I do it because I get off on it, not because they do!”
“Oh, so they treat you like dirt because they’re nice guys who want to make you come? That’s okay then,” Sam spat out, disbelief dripping from every word.
Charlie frowned at the back of his friend’s head as Sam turned away and propped several cushions beneath his injured ankle. Sam didn’t get it. He never had and he never would. Worse, Sam didn’t even want to get it.
Closing his eyes for a moment, Charlie held back a sigh. Apparently there was a limit to his masochism after all, because he was still willing to be damned before he admitted out loud just how hard he had fallen for his flat-mate.
He had no doubt that would just be inviting more pain than even he could get off on…
****
Samuel Hall’s hands worked away on automatic pilot as his brain raced faster and faster. A twisted ankle was a twisted ankle. He’d known how to treat one by rote for years. No thought process was actually required.
Just a twisted ankle. Sam repeated that point to himself one more time, in the hope that it would actually sink in this time. It didn’t. A ball of panic was still lodged in the centre of his chest making it almost impossible for him to take a deep breath.
He could have been killed. That was the only fact there was room for in his head—it pushed everything else aside and spread out until it occupied every corner of his psyche. There had been Sam wasting his time worrying about Charlie every time the other man left the house, when what he should have been lecturing him on was proper health and safety in the shower!
He’d been jacking off thinking about us. That thought somehow managed to wriggle into his brain and make room for itself in spite of his panic. It came directly from the part of his mind he’d been trying to block out ever since he saw the other man helpless, naked and completely at his mercy.
Charlie’s eyes were closed. Sam took full advantage of the opportunity and closed his own eyes for a moment. As easily as that, memories burst into his head—images from all those times he’d watched the other man leave the flat for some club, only to come back all alone with nothing more than bruises around his wrists and some very painful looking whip marks on his back for his trouble.
Guilt bubbled up inside Sam. Charlie didn’t need another man getting turned on by having power over him. He needed someone who would be kind to him, treasure him and look after him. Charlie needed someone to make sure he never got hurt again.
“Looks like I’m not the only one who’s turned on by me being in pain…”
“What?” Suddenly Sam’s voice was higher than it had been since he hit puberty. He looked up quickly enough to give himself whiplash.
Charlie had opened his eyes again and was staring at him with a strange expression on his face. “If you get any harder you’re going to tear a seam in your fly,” he mentioned, almost conversationally.
Sam didn’t look down at his own crotch. He already knew his friend was right. He held Charlie’s gaze as if his life depended on it.
“Well?” Charlie prompted.
“You’re hot and you’re naked,” Sam blurted out. “I’m turned on because I want to screw you, not because I want to whip you!”
“Then why are you looking so guilty?” Charlie asked. “We’re both adults. You’re hardly a virgin. You don’t strike me as the kind of man who’s embarrassed at liking other men. If that was the only reason you were turned on, you’d have laughed it off as nothing.”
Sam opened his mouth. He closed his mouth. Words completely failed to happen. He moved on to immobilising Charlie’s broken fingers, then his sprained wrist in silence, trusting his training to take over while his brain was preoccupied with other matters. And, the whole time, he felt the other man’s eyes on his face, studying him, analysing him.
Eventually, he couldn’t avoid meeting the other man’s gaze any longer.
“There’s nothing wrong with being a sadist,” Charlie informed him, as soon as he looked up.
“I don’t like seeing you in pain,” Sam ground out. That much was the truth at least. As he looked down, his gaze travelled over his friend’s naked body and the bandages wrapped around his limbs. He didn’t want to hurt him, but damn, he’d wanted to see him bound and helpless for so long…
Sam shook his head at himself. Charlie was wrapped up in bandages, not leather. He was a patient, not a submissive. Well, maybe he was a submissive, but he wasn’t Sam’s submissive. Because Sam didn’t want a submissive. He wasn’t into anything like that. That was the important point to remember, and—
“Sam?”
Sam shook his head again and started to put away his first aid kit. “You should get some rest. I’ll fetch a blanket for you and—”
“We’ve shared a flat for six months, and the whole of that time, you’ve been hiding in the kinky closet.”
“What?”
Sam had never heard Charlie speak so calmly, or himself sound so panicked. The other man repeated the sentence word for word, in that same Zen-like tone of voice he seemed to have acquired along with his various injuries.
“Wanting to do something you know is wrong is one thing,” Sam snapped, as he felt the ground start to slip away from beneath his feet. “Becoming the kind of man who actually does it anyway, that’s something else.”
“But you—!”
“Don’t confuse me with the kind of guys you hook up with for a quick screw in the dark corner of some club.” Sam cut in, his words almost colliding with each other as he rushed to get them out. It was more luck than judgement that he didn’t jam his fingers in the first aid box when he slammed the lid down.
“
What makes you so different?” Charlie asked.
Sam frowned down at the other man. “Maybe the fact I give a damn about you?” he suggested. Or the fact I’m in love with you? Somehow, he managed to keep that particular fact back.
Charlie raised an eyebrow at him.
“Or maybe the fact that if I had you tied up and completely at my mercy, I wouldn’t treat you like a damn punch bag?” Sam suggested, pulling himself to his feet.
“What would you do with me then?” Charlie asked.
“What?” Sam took a step back from him, as if Charlie had suddenly morphed into a poisonous snake that might bite at any moment.
“What would you do with me if you had me tied up and helpless?” Charlie twisted on the sofa, half sitting up.
Sam quickly closed the gap between them and placed his hand on the centre of the submissive’s chest to stop him moving about and hurting himself. As easily as that, Charlie seemed to lose any inclination to get up.
“I could offer you a few suggestions, if you like, tell you what other guys have done with me?” Charlie offered.
“I am nothing like the kind of men you’ve been screwing.” Sam was no longer sure who he was trying to convince every time he said it.
“Yeah, right. The only difference between you and them is that they have the balls to admit that they like—”
“The difference between me and them is that I’d rather keep that side of myself to myself, than turn into the kind of man who’d use someone then throw him away as if he was nothing,” Sam cut in. “I’m not going to be ashamed of walking away from that.”
Charlie tugged irritably at his bandages. “Then why don’t you walk away from me as well?” he snapped.
“Because a man can’t help who he falls in love with,” Sam blurted out.
Charlie stared up at him in silence. For once, he appeared to be completely speechless.
Sam smiled ruefully. Pushing his hand through his hair, he tried to tell himself that he hadn’t just made a huge mistake, but it didn’t really matter. Deep down, he knew there was no way in hell he could have kept the truth from Charlie while panic at the other man really being hurt raced through him.
Don't Read in the Closet volume one Page 22