"See,” Bonham said, smirking up at him yet again in a way that made Sean want to bite right through that pretty lower lip, “See, now ... that was a mistake."
Chapter Three
Jesse used the weight of his whole body to press Sean into the wall and quell his struggles. The last thing he wanted to do was to hurt the kid, but he would if he had to. Then, all at once, Sean quit fighting and relaxed against him, his eyes falling half-shut and his mouth softening. Jesse turned his attention to his grip on Sean's wrist. Through the minimal skin-to-skin contact he read an equal mix of fear and lust.
"Doesn't feel like a mistake to me,” Sean murmured and licked his lower lip.
"Don't. You won't like where it ends up."
"Says you."
"Yeah, says me.” Jesse eased off him, but kept his hand clamped around his wrist. “You think you can ... what? Seduce me, because killing me didn't quite work out like you hoped?"
Sean shook his head. “Didn't want to kill you."
"Sorry, guess I got confused by how you tried to split my skull.” He caught himself staring at the way the younger man's throat worked as he swallowed, and moved his gaze to the wall just over his shoulder. “You're pretty, kid, but in case you didn't notice, I'm prettier."
"What the fuck does that mean?"
"It means I know every trick in the book, plus a few nobody's bothered to write down. It means maybe you can play Paco Sanchez with that shit, but you can't play me."
Sean's face flushed to nearly purple. “Not trying to play you.” The feelings bleeding through his skin morphed to desperation and anger, and maybe a little guilt. But the lust remained, and it was damned hard to ignore. Not the only thing getting hard in the equation, either.
Jesse shifted so his groin was no longer riding Sean's thigh and said, “Tell it to your sugar daddy when he comes for you."
"Sanchez's not my sugar daddy. I don't even...” He looked away, and his prism of emotions turned again, this time to anger and humiliation.
"You don't even what?"
"Never mind."
"Well, there must be some reason you ... uh ... tolerate his affections, right? Come on, spill. What's he got on you?"
"Fuck you. I don't have to tell you anything."
He was right. By now he must've figured out Jesse wouldn't beat it out of him unless backed into a corner. Jesse didn't have to—he was “special” and “gifted” and could tell what Sean was feeling just by laying his hands on his skin. Yeah, some gift. Talk about a mixed blessing ... forced to feel everything the kid was feeling, when all Jesse wanted to do was press him harder into the wall and make him do something productive with that choirboy pout.
"So you weren't trying to play me, huh? Does that mean you want this? For real?"
He didn't wait for an answer. Just grabbed Sean by his shirt and tossed him on the mattress, and yeah, maybe he had three inches and twenty pounds on Jesse, but he tumbled like any other guy taken by surprise. He landed on his back and lay there, his cheeks red, his eyes wide, and his mouth open.
Jesse took a step toward the bed. “Well? You want this or not? Last chance."
The kid nodded.
"You'll have to do better than that,” Jesse said. “I'm in ‘toppy son of a bitch’ mode tonight.” He let himself smirk.
Sean answered it with a half-smile. “Yes. I want it."
Jesse nodded. “How?"
"What d'you mean?"
"I mean how do you want it?” Jesse moved around the room, never letting his gaze stray from Sean's face. He turned on the lamp next to the bed, and flicked off the overhead light. “Sanchez gives it to you rough? And you like that?” It was a shot in the dark, but he knew he'd hit the target when Sean flushed again and looked away.
"No, I'm not into pain. At least...” His voice faded, and he looked at the ceiling.
Jesse finished the thought for him. “At least not like Sanchez deals it out.” He nodded, and moved toward the bed to thread a hand through Sean's long curls. He pulled his head backward—not hard, but determined—and leaned in to plant one on his mouth.
Sean twisted away, forcing Jesse to release his hair or risk scalping him. “Quit it."
"Quit what?"
"That kissin’ stuff.” His drawl had deepened, plainly aggravated by his confusion. “You've got me, okay? For Christ's sake, quit treatin’ me like a ... like a..."
"Like what?” Okay, now Jesse was honestly puzzled. He didn't like kissing? Did he have a rule against it, like a whore who didn't kiss on the lips? He reached out and cupped the back of Sean's neck. The jolt of bitter self-loathing that seeped through the touch made him pull back again. Somebody had fucked with the kid's head big time.
"You don't have to pretend you like me. That's all I'm sayin'."
Jesse stepped back and crossed his arms over his chest. “Whatever. Me? I like a little foreplay, but if you're not into it...” He shrugged. “Take off your clothes, cowboy."
Sean reached for his belt buckle, then stopped. “What about you?"
"What about me?” An open challenge—if the kid thought he liked being manhandled, told what to do and how to do it—well, Jesse could oblige. He'd be easier to control later if Jesse broke him now, and that might save both their lives if things went south with Sanchez. “You said you wanted this. Said you weren't playing me. These are the rules: you do as I say, when I say it. And I say take off your fucking clothes.” He kept his voice even and steady. Almost pleasant. But he didn't smile, and when Sean reached again for his buckle, he moved away from the bed, pulled a spindly-legged chair from the corner of the room, and straddled it backwards.
He watched as Sean stood and stripped, right down to his baby-blue boxer briefs.
"Those, too. All the way. And lose the watch."
Sean stared at the floor as he shucked the briefs. Jesse took the opportunity to check him out. He looked even taller naked, if that was possible, but not as thin and lanky as he'd appeared beneath his baggy jeans and too-big t-shirt. Definitely athletic. And Christ Jesus ... he was packing. Enough to make a lesser man than Jesse feel inadequate.
But what caught and held his attention were the deep purple bruises that marred Sean's left side, spreading over his ribs and down over his hip. When he turned to fold his briefs and set them on the floor with his other clothes, Jesse saw a matching set of marks on his lower back.
"Get on the bed.” He fought to keep that same placid tone, though the sight of the bruises made him want to drive his fist through the nearest wall. But there was no need to spook the kid with a show of pointless violence. When Sean climbed up on all fours—apparently assuming “the position"—Jesse said, “No. On your back."
Sean shot a glance over his shoulder, a question plain on his face, but he turned and spread out without a word. His dick was half-hard, lying long and heavy against his own thigh. He folded his arms behind his head and looked at Jesse. “Now what?"
"Now you touch yourself. You do it just like I tell you, and you don't stop ‘til I say."
"What the...?” Sean's eyes widened again. “I thought you wanted—"
"No. You wanted. What I want is for you to follow instructions."
"You said you didn't like games. What the fuck is this, if not a game?"
Jesse inclined his head, considering him. “Good point, kid. You don't wanna play? Then let's call it a night.” He stood and moved to swing his leg around the chair.
"Wait.” Sean swallowed. “What do you ... how do you want me to...” He bit his lip.
Jesse squinted at him, making his face as hard as he knew how. “If we start this, we're going all the way. No backing out."
The kid nodded, still chewing on his lip, and Goddamn if that didn't make Jesse want to join him on that bed. But then he looked again at all those bruises, all that marked up skin, and let himself settle again onto the chair. “Nothing fancy to start. Just do what you do when you're all by your lonesome."
Sean closed his eyes, wrappe
d his hand around his own cock and pulled once, gently. The younger man's face twisted in an obvious expression of discomfort, and he stopped.
Jesse sighed. “I'm waiting. Don't make me come over there.” He watched as Sean's hand moved again, stroking slow and long, and had to consciously ease his grip on the back of the chair for fear of cracking the old, dry wood.
Sean picked up the pace, setting a rhythm Jesse could feel in the back of his throat and low in his belly, reaching all the way into his balls. He shifted in the chair and winced at the increasingly tight fit of his jeans. The yellowish glow from the bedside lamp caught and hung on the sharp angles of the kid's body—the line of a collarbone, the curve of a shoulder, the sharp jut of a hip. It made Jesse want to trace every shadow with his fingertips, dip his tongue into every little hollow.
Sean made a muffled noise, and Jesse looked at his face. His color was high, all sunset-red and golden tan, and still sucking on that Goddamned lip, making it blush and swell. Jesse bit back a curse and rose off the chair to shed the clothes he'd put on in the bathroom. Moving silently, he fished a condom and a bottle of lube from his duffel, and set them on the bedside table.
Sean's eyes opened to slits when Jesse pressed his knee into the bed. The hand on his cock faltered.
"Don't stop. Just keep doing like you're doing.” He touched Sean's arm and heard his breathing accelerate. The younger man's skin seemed to bleed heat, and with it that same raw need Jesse'd picked up before. “Just like that, keep going. But don't you come ‘til I say, you hear me?"
Sean groaned. “Come on, Bonham, I can't—"
Jesse cut him off by wrapping his own hand around Sean's, where it gripped his cock, and forcing him to keep his rhythm. “You can, and you will. And I think I want you to call me—"
The kid freaked, yanking his entire body away from Jesse and falling half-off the bed. “Sir? You want me to call you sir? Because I won't. You can't make me, you motherfuckin'—"
"Whoa!” It was the first time Jesse'd raised his voice. He hated how loud it sounded in the small cabin. “Settle down. Get back on the bed."
Sean eyed him, tension twisting his face, but slid his long frame onto the mattress. His cock bobbed in the air, but neither of them moved to touch it.
Jesse sighed. “Not sir. Just Jesse. I want you to call me Jesse.” He lifted his hand, palm up, as he would to a fear-biting dog. “Okay, Sean?"
The kid narrowed his eyes. “I don't think so."
Jesse felt a pang of disappointment, but he sure as hell wouldn't let that show on his face. The kid was well within his rights to refuse to call him by name. They weren't buddies, after all. “Whatever. I'm gonna touch you know. And you're gonna let me."
This time Sean nodded, but the muscles in his abdomen rippled with tension as Jesse reached for his cock. It felt hot and heavy with blood in his hand. He ghosted his thumb over the head, barely touching, collecting the moisture that beaded at the tip. Sean made a low, helpless sound, like a cross between a grunt and a sob.
All that need bubbling up through the younger man's skin hit Jesse deep in his gut and held on tight. He fisted Sean's cock and stroked, imitating what he'd seen the younger man do.
"Yeah, just like that. Fast and hard—that how you like it?"
Sean closed his eyes and nodded, then threw an arm over his face. Jesse grabbed his elbow and tugged. “No hiding. You wanted this, remember?"
The kid looked at him, his pupils blown wide and his mouth soft and wet. Jesse's hips flexed without his permission. His cock brushed Sean's thigh, and he froze. The younger man didn't seem to notice.
Sean's breathing had disintegrated to quick, shallow panting. He was close. Jesse gave him three more good strokes, then gripped the base of his cock hard and leaned in to whisper, “Tell me."
"Huh?” Sean stared at him. Confusion seeped through his skin into Jesse's palm. “Tell you what?"
"Tell me what Sanchez has on you. Tell me why you let him...” Jesse swallowed the profanity that rose to his lips. “Why you let him hurt you. I know you don't like it.” He stroked his cock again—longer, slower—and Sean writhed on the bed. “Tell me."
"It's...” Sean licked his lips. His breath whistled in his throat. “It's not important. Just ... come on, Bonham—"
Jesse fisted him again and squeezed. Hard, vicious, digging his nails into the tender spot just under the crown.
Sean yelped. “Jesus Christ ... fuck ... get me off and I'll tell you."
"No. Tell me and maybe ... maybe ... I'll let you get off."
The kid let loose with a string of obscenities, cussing Jesse from one end to the other. When he'd finished, he levered himself up onto his elbows and said, “My brother, all right? My brother's in the county lock-up and Sanchez ... he...” Sean let his head drop backward with a groan.
"Sanchez threatened him? Said he'd have him ... what? Hurt? Killed?"
Sean nodded. “Said he had lots of friends on the inside, and Bobby's as good as dead if I don't do what he wants."
"And what he wants is to beat crap out of you?"
"Among other things."
Son. Of. A. Bitch. Reason number eight-thousand-four-hundred-sixty-seven for Sanchez to die. Preferably slow and screaming in pain. Rage made Jesse's vision gray out at the edges for a second or two. Then he sensed a change in the kid's emotions to go along with the way his dick had begun to soften in Jesse's hand.
"He's gonna kill me, you know. When you let me go? He'll kill me for being any part of this, and then he'll go after my brother.” Sean's face had paled. His mouth was tight around the words.
Jesse shook his head. “Not gonna happen.” The younger man started to protest, and Jesse squeezed his cock, hard. “You can believe me or not. I don't give a rat's ass. But it's not gonna happen, because Sanchez's gonna be dead.” He looked into the kid's face as he said it, meeting his gaze head-on. “We're not done here, cowboy. Concentrate."
He jacked the kid again, a little rougher than before, and pressed his other hand against his belly, just below his naval. The skin was hot, as if something smoldered just beneath. Jesse slid his hand upward. Under the thud and stutter of Sean's heartbeat, he picked up a dark swirl of helpless arousal. Something that went deeper than the physical.
Sean fell back onto the mattress, his eyes slipping shut, and bucked into Jesse's hand. “Yeah, like that. God ... just like that.” His voice sounded stressed, as if it were ready to crack. As if he, himself, might shatter.
Jesse leaned in and whispered, “Now take back what you said about my truck."
The way Sean's eyes popped open again—the outraged expression on his face—it was almost enough to make Jesse laugh. He struggled to keep his face stern when the kid said, “Dude, have you ever got a chip on your shoulder. I'm sorry I suggested you were a bottom, okay? You're not. You're a big, strong he-man, and you're totally in charge."
"Damn straight, cowboy.” He slowed his stroke. Gentled it, ‘til it was nothing but a tease that made Sean squirm. “Now take it back."
"I ... you...” The kid shuddered when he ran his thumb over the slit, smearing the slippery wet down over the underside. “What the fuck do you want me to say?"
"How about ‘you've got a real cool ride, Jesse, and I'm sorry I called it a piece of shit,’ for starters.” He let his hand slide down the base of Sean's cock and clamped down. His fingers splayed out over the kid's sac, testing its tightness and weight. Yeah, he was ready to blow.
Sean slammed his head back into the mattress repeatedly. “I hate you."
Jesse smiled. “You shouldn't. I'm trying to teach you something here, cowboy. Because, see ... there's pain, like when some asshole likes to use you for his personal punching bag...” He gave Sean's dick a yank and watched the kid's eyes roll back in his head. “And then there's pain, like when you want something so bad you think you're gonna die, and it's just ... outta ... reach."
Through clenched jaws, Sean said, “You sound like you know from experien
ce."
Jesse nodded. “Been there a time or two."
"So I wasn't wrong about you. You really are a switch."
"You wanna get off tonight, kid? That's not the way.” Jesse readjusted his grip, enjoying the way Sean flinched. “Now tell me what I want to hear."
Sean sucked in a breath, wheezy and deep, and parroted back, “You've got a cool ride, and I'm sorry I called it a piece of shit."
Jesse thought about nailing him again for refusing to say his name, but there was just so long you could play this game before it got old. “It's a forty-eight Chevy, Series 3600. Original interior. Belonged to my granddad.” He heard the stupid pride in his own voice and didn't care.
"Right,” Sean said, sounding pained. “Forty-eight, Series 3600. Got it.” He shifted on the bed, and a jolt of pure frustration traveled through Jesse's hand from where it connected to Sean's cock and balls.
"Real good, kid. Now I'm gonna make you come, but here's the thing—you can't make any noise.” Jesse moved ‘til his lips brushed over the kid's ear. He went back to the slow, light strokes, but now he added a wicked twist of his wrist at the end, up and over the head, that made Sean gasp and cant his hips high off the mattress. “Not ... a ... sound. Think you can do that for me?"
Sean turned his head so his mouth nearly touched Jesse's. Too close for Jesse to focus on his face, but the kid's breath felt hot and damp, and tasted sweet, somehow. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Yeah, I can do that."
"Good.” Jesse watched as Sean's eyes fell shut again and resisted the urge to kiss him. The kid sucked that lower lip back into his mouth, and furrowed his brow. Anyone else might read the expression as agony, but Jesse knew different. Through the hand still resting on Sean's chest he read relief, and then a soul-deep exhilaration as Jesse stroked harder, bringing him fast up to the edge and forcing him over. His cock jerked in Jesse's grip and jetted white up his belly, all the way to his chest. Jesse pulled back to watch his face. He saw Sean straining to keep his moans in check and knew he'd won this round.
He ran his hand through Sean's hair as the kid floated back to earth, limp and breathing like he'd run the four-minute mile. When he judged Sean was firing on all cylinders again, he murmured, “You ready for me?"
Phaze Fantasies, Vol. III Page 20