INDEX:
Link here to a general overview of the novel
Prologue, Chpt 1, Chpt 2, Chpt 3, Chpt 4, Chpt 5, Chpt 6, Chpt 7, Chpt 8, Chpt 9, Chpt 10, Chpt 11, Chpt 12
Chapter Thirteen
Daav
Sebastian’s clothes are strewn across the floor, discarded in obvious haste. His messy ways haven’t left him over the years. And he’s on top of my mattress as I commanded, kneeling. Naked, all but for the dangling silver hawk earrings, twined against the fall of his vibrant hair. And the barbell piercing glinting at his nipples. Sebastian takes my breath away. He’s facing me, his hands threaded behind his neck, elbows extended, gray eyes following my progress as I enter the room, carrying his packed bag slung across my shoulder, and lock the door behind me.
He’s already fully hard, his cockhead red and flushed against his abdomen, the delicious vein running up his shaft a mouthwatering sight, his balls full and high. His groin is shaved bare, something new from the days of our youth when he’d only kept his hair trimmed. I like him this way. If I had any of his talent, I’d sculpt him myself.
“So beautiful, Angel,” I say as I place the bag on the end of the bed and slip off my shoes.
He opens his mouth to answer, but I put a finger over his lips, relishing the warm soft mouth beneath my touch. “Shhhh, no speaking. I’m busy appreciating the view.”
His eyebrows rise in question, but he stays silent as my gaze catalogs him from his strong thighs, up past his hip bones and waist, the dip of his belly button to his defined chest and the points of his hard nipples with those piercings. To the stretch of neck lying below his lovely ginger hair falling to his shoulders. And again up to the light gray of his eyes, staring at me with honest hope and desire. He watches me with such clarity and intensity, it makes me turn away for a respite. Instead I unzip the canvas of the bag and remove the items he’s so thoughtfully included, laying them across the bed.
“I see you packed your bag thoroughly, Angel. Optimistically hopeful?” Lube, of course, bondage tape, a studded paddle, ballgag, a flogger and a neatly coiled single tail. Along with clothespins galore. My education at the Stem and Thorn meant familiarity with the items, but it’s not the equipment that has me aroused, it’s the man waiting for me, for anything I choose to do to him. It’s the truth of this for him and how it brings out a beauty in his soul. And while I rarely used toys with him before, I’m sure Sebastian packed more for the aphrodisiac of uncertainty and the possibilities of my choices. He’s a pain slut through and through and never pretends otherwise, despite when he insists he’ll give me exactly what I need even if it’s none of that.
The control appeals, but I can’t enjoy it too much. That’s not okay. Sebastian wants this, which has to be enough.
Although really the definitions are meaningless to me. He’s Sebastian, and that’s what arouses me. We may not both be built for kink in the same way, but we still fit. I’ll give him this last gift. Yes, it’s indulgence for me to touch him, take what I desire, true, but I’ve wounded him, so in some twisted version of penance I will instead hurt him in the way he wants and needs. And in the meantime do something for both of us.
A sledgehammer has slammed into all of the barriers I have erected, the walls of my dam, with the water breaking free and tumbling over the fractured structure, roaring down into the spillway with the force of every bit of energy I’ve ever coaxed from my Verse. And the light-filled, gorgeous tangles of my magic are singing encouragement, laughing along with the spill as the water crashes over every empty, rigidly controlled space of my life. Sebastian’s right. Something’s happening with the magic.
His gray eyes call to me, begging to be drowned by these waves, and I move in response to that call. My knees are on the bed, my body moving close to his as I brush the pad of my finger across his line of his cheekbone, down and over his parted lips as his breathing stutters, touching the point of his chin and lower over his Adam’s apple to finally rest in the divot beneath.
“Please,” he begs, breathless, voice a low croak and breaking my command for silence. But I don’t care.
For the last eight years I’ve limped through existence, broken in half. Before that point I’d briefly forgotten how it felt to be so broken, had forgotten since I’d been five and Sebastian’s glowing soul met me at Victor’s door and welcomed me in to make me whole.
Our past rushes up and I’m back inside the hundreds of similar moments when we were younger in which I’ve laid hands upon him as he’s offered himself up to me this way. It’s muscle memory that has me reaching for a dusk colored pierced nipple and pinching the nub hard. He gasps and smiles, my attention caught by the small crook to his canine.
“Ah! More.”
“Quiet or the ball gag goes in.” I suppress my own smile. Verse, this man.
I reach to take both nipples in my fingers and pinch harder, adding a twist of the metal.
This time I get the gasp but the smile has left, replaced by the first shadow of his darkness and desperation.
I walk my knees closer so that I’m pressed against him, his rigid dick lying against the zipper of my pants, my own cock near weeping to feel him against me again. Yes, I’d taken him in the warehouse studio, but there’s never enough with Sebastian. There never will be.
My hand raises from his nipple up to his neck, wrapping around its front, feeling the fragility of his windpipe as he swallows, a light squeeze of my grip as I lean into the shell of his ear.
“You’re mine, Angel. Remain very still.” My teeth close over the tender flesh of his lobe, biting down in gentle threat.
He moans again and the sound vibrates over my skin, coiling my body with anticipation. I want to see him frantic, needy.
The fingers of my other hand leave his second nipple to wrap his length, squeeze and deliver a hard pump up and down the smooth, silky shaft. Sebastian leans forward, presses his groin into my grasp, which simultaneously pushes his neck more firmly into my hold.
He slowly loses his calm, his center, as small noises escape his mouth while I shuttle my hand up and down his cock. His gift to me, handing over control I value as the precious rarity of my life.
“I’ll take you any way I please, Sebastian. Use you any way I want. Make you wait, or deny you altogether.” He shivers again at that. I’ve released his neck, scrape my fingers down from that column of flesh back to his nubs, my fingernails abrading them again, pulling the stained disc of his areolas and the small erect points punctured so lovingly with steel.
“On your back,” I demand, pulling away again and regretting the momentary loss of his scent, that mint and musk that’s all Sebastian.
He takes a moment to orient himself again once I’ve released his straining dick, his slit leaking precum against his abdomen as his erection stands flush against his stomach. But then he’s moving and dropping to the mattress on his back, spreading his legs wide with a clear message of access. And the pulse at my throat beats hard with the view.
His hands rest on the bed by his sides, nicks and small scars across their tops accompanying the callouses I’ve noticed since our reunion, the badges of valor from his dedication to his sculpting. So Sebastian, giving everything to what he loves. Wearing it on his skin. And he loves fiercely. And somehow, miraculously, he loves me. How can that be true? How can this man I trust and respect think I’m worthy of that love, and give me so much trust in turn? But I know it’s true. Maybe… Could he be right that I deserve this? The doubt and grief have shadowed me for so long it’s impossible to know.
“Please, Daav,” he’s saying, as his breath speeds up with his anticipation.
He knows not to call me Sir or Master, part of my boundaries I’d negotiated with him so long ago. I’m not that to him anyway. He gives me control, yes, and he asks for pain, but he’s not a submissive in any sense of meekness. He’s strong and meets life on his own terms. And I need to be seen as myself in this, not a put upon title. That’s pretend. We are real. The love has always been the bottom line.
It’s then I reach for the clothespins and proceed to squeeze small, delectable bites of his flesh between the prongs. Patterns up and down his abdomen, chest, around the buds of his nipples, including the tips. With each I watch for his reaction, and savor the inevitable brush of my fingertips, palms and wrists against his warm skin as I place them. Each touch a zinging connection less about the pain and more about how we’re joined in this moment.
I work to the soundtrack of his need with his small gasps, low moans, and his fisting of bedsheets as I continue down to his groin, to the soft tissue there.
“Please, sweet agony, more,” he begs again, until I relent and begin the careful placement pinching the clips along the shaft of his cock, difficult with the skin so tight. His hips pump up under my touch. He’s still hard, craving the pain.
“Be still,” I tell him, his eyes a glassy focus on my hands as I place each clothespin until there’s dozens of them decorating his skin. His body shifts on the mattress in small, delicate writhing as he struggles to calm his movement while I brush the tops of my palm along the cascading series of pins, a gentle bending so as not to disrupt their grasp. But his face shows his bliss. That he takes this without being restrained is amazing itself and tells me what the pain truly does for him.
Like leading him in a dance, his small twitches and adjustments are a ballet all his own. My thrill is not in the pain, right? But in how truly he becomes himself in this dance. And I’m the cause of it. He’s giving himself to me, opening up everything. The dark behind his eyes is shining through, alongside the light.
I tug lightly at his balls, running both thumbs along the sides of the crease where they meet his pubes, then down underneath to his perineum to tease lower toward his pucker.
“You’re so sweet, Angel. You love this and take it beautifully.”
And I can’t help myself but reach up again and brush the line of his cheekbone, a soft sigh escaping his lips at the caress. His inflamed, pinched dick twitches up again, reaching and my attention lowers to his spread legs.
Verse, I want inside his tight hole. But I can be patient, make this last if I’ll only have a brief taste. With a final skim over the delicate skin, a flick to the sensitive sac, I pull away.
“Arhg.” His hips pump up. “Fuck my ass.”
“Not yours to decide, Sweet Angel. I’m starting with your other hole.” Moving from where I’m straddling his thighs, I stand long enough to shuck my pants and briefs, rubbing my palm over my aching shaft with a hard stroke, squeezing the base of my cock to keep me from hitting my orgasm too soon, the fire already building. I return to the bed and move pillows to prop up his head, then kneel over his mouth and lead my cockhead into his now opening lips.
“Time to fuck your mouth, Sebastian. It’s too smart for its own good so let’s fill it with something else.”
And then I’m pushing my glans between his lips as he opens for me. So, so good, so wet, so warm. The sensation too much, as I fuck further into him. He’s swallowing greedily. The tight suction engulfs me and I lose my own groan to it, forcing myself to the back of his throat and letting my hips piston into the heat. His eyes never leave me, even as they water, tears streaming his face, even as he gags around me, saliva pooling from his mouth. The look in his gray iris is all begging need, pleasure and losing himself to this use, to choke on me. Although the love swims there with his tears and muffled whimpers each time I thrust fully inside and feel the muscles of his throat close around me.
So good. So close, but I won’t come inside his mouth. I want his tight hole tonight. I want to mark him, want him to remember that he’s mine, even if I can’t keep him. Selfish, but true.
I pull out and he’s gasping to breathe, still keeping his hands on the mattress where I demanded, fists squeezed, but his smile is back until I reach behind me and skim my fingers over the lines of clips and he gasps and moans again.
They’ve stayed in place long enough. Although the next part is no easy piece of our dance together.
“I’m removing them now. Be ready.” I start at this chest, pulling off one clothespin after another in quick, efficient movements.
The pain of blood flowing back into the skin is excruciating. I’ve done such to myself in the past so I know. A hundred times worse coming off than going on. Sebastian’s back bows off the mattress with the onslaught of my torture.
“Ah, fuck!” he screams, face pinched, and head turning one side to the other as I relentlessly continue. His eyes still leak. His cries ring with the pain, and with a beauty I cannot explain. His dark is my safety. His nightmare grounds me, wraps around me and makes me feel real because the pain is true. Sometimes more true than the light of my Verse. And he lets himself go in it, doesn’t fight. Always, I’ve known he touched something amazing with that.
The heat of his body beneath me, the soft give of the mattress under my knees, the whoosh of air in and out of my chest wash through me as I soak in the sight of him lost to the dark he loves.
And finally I am down to the clothespins decorating his cock and groin where he writhes and shakes with their removal.
“Sweet agony, ah.”
Then the last is off and his mewls catch my ears as the red, angry marks on his flesh shine up at me. “Please, more, Daav. Give me more.”
His hand finally lifts off the bed and grabs for my arm.
But I pry it off and lay it down on the bed. “Shhh,” I say. “Wait. Give it time.” Then bend over again to kiss behind his ear, feather my lips there for a moment. One, two, three.
His body adjusts as the blood flow returns, while I rub a gentle nail over the hollow of his throat, back and forth, and watch him come down from the ordeal. Kiss the hollow after each scrape of touch. Then rub lightly over the crown of his dick, dipping gently into the slit of his leaking head.
I love him. Always. Verse, but if only I could keep him.
When he’s calm, I speak.
“You’re perfect, Angel, but that’s enough. Flip now, hands and knees.” My words arrow over him, into him and he nods, all exhaustion and acceptance.
He scrambles and it’s as if we have never taken our eight year pause, as if the way Sebastian moves as a prayer to our love, the way my voice rises with command to remind us both that there is something real and precious in the world, will never change, never flag.
With ass in the air, his hands again laced behind his neck with the side of his head pressed to the mattress, the rounded, strong globes of his buttocks tight and high, legs spread, he waits. The wrinkled pink pucker of his hole calls me.
I can’t wait much longer, although I’ll give him one last taste of what he loves.
I pick up the paddle. My hand swings back.
Smack!
He jerks forward with the contact. No warm up, but I know he can take it.
Smack! Smack! I alternate stinging slaps on those cheeks with the flat of the paddle and listen to his groans of pleasure. “Thank you, thank you,” he’s mumbling between each strike, with almost a drunken slur of the words. My sweet Angel soars with the impact. The slam, his gasps and his answers to each stroke are like some call and response song between us.
Another several dozen and my patience is done.
I want.
My mouth comes down to the crease between his ass and I spread him further with my hands, giving me the access I crave. Licking over and around his hole, flicking back and forth with my tongue, I suck and eat at the nerve rich entrance and adore his gasping, moaning string of expletives.
“Fuck yes,” and “don’t stop,” and “right there, Verse twist it, Prince. I can’t…I’m not…ahhhh!”
He’s musk and Sebastian, and I want to feast forever. My tongue burrows in and he’s pushing back into me with each small spear through the first tight ring of muscle.
He’s begging, crying with each stroke.
And then I drag my mouth back, the loss of his taste only bearable because my cock wants inside more. And while he’ll deny needing any prep, liking the burn of immediate hard penetration, I‘ve never let him get away with that preference. I’m willing to cause pain, but not real injury, not tearing.
My hand goes for the lube I placed to our side and I’m slicking fingers, the first digit back at his hole to circle the rosebud and add to the moisture from my mouth. Less than I’d use otherwise, but enough to be a compromise.
Sebastian’s pushing back into it and I’m past the first resistance as the finger sinks into the first knuckle, then deeper. Then crooking my finger up and rubbing the spongy magic spot. So warm, tight. I want him. He drives me beyond rationality.
“Yessss!” he hisses.
And with the confirmation I’m making him feel good I start to push in and out over his prostate, pausing after a moment to add a second finger, then a third as I stretch him, scissoring.
“Enough. Get inside me,” he barks.
“Bossy. And who’s in charge here?”
“Fuck, fuck, fuck. You are. Sorry.” He’s panting with each of my strokes in and out, pushing back to take my fingers deeper.
As I keep up my motion I move my other hand to the back of his neck. The touch is as much for me as it is for him. Connection. I can’t get enough of him. He’s the entire universe.
My dick aches and the tingles shooting through my balls make me lose patience, lose any pretense of waiting longer.
I grab the base of my shaft, lining it up with his hole.
“I’ll fill that pretty hole, Angel. Make it mine. Yes? No coming until I give permission, if I do.”
“Yes, Daav, yes.”
He’s panting, his back and buttocks slick with sweat and need, pushing back as he feels my tip at his entrance.
I push in, slowly, past his first ring, holding his hips when he tries to slam back into me to force me deep.
I freeze my motion. “No! Stop that or I pull out and you get nothing.”
He’s whimpering, but he obeys. And I grip his hips harder, neither of us caring about bruising from my fingertips, liking the idea of more of my marks on him.
As the first wet, tight vise of his ass engulfs me I groan. Perfection already and Verse, I won’t last. Already fire builds in my balls, so full it’s almost pain.
I sink deeper, still trying to go slow. But it’s Sebastian and I want to lose myself in him.
“Okay?” I manage to ask, still trying to let him acclimate.
He snorts. “I’d be better if you get on with it. Fuck me like you mean it, Daav.” He’s half breathless, voice dreamy even in his sass.
I last maybe three more shallow thrusts and then my hips hammer into him with force, sinking in all the way, balls slapping his ass as I seat myself fully. And again I’m fighting not to come.
My arms wrap his ribcage and I’m pulling him up to his knees, his back to my chest. His laced hands lose their hold behind his head and the wet squelch of our bodies is a dirty soundtrack as I thrust, and thrust, snapping my hips. Fuck as hard as he likes, as I want. Dark and wet and tight and Sebastian squeezing around me, welcoming me home.
I move my hands around front to his cock and knock away his fingers where he’d begun to jerk himself.
“No, you can come, but only if you do it without touching.”
Although I long to wrap my own grip around his dick to feel more of him, every part of him. But I know he can shoot without the extra stimulation and being forced to it drives him just a little more crazy.
So I hold on, running hands up his chest to his nipples and pinching as I drill into him. Then sink my teeth into his shoulder blade and bite.
“Yesssss.” Another hiss from him.
His cry drives me into frenzy.
Until it’s all electricity, raw nerve endings and primal need, blocking out everything around me. And I’ve lost most of my rhythm and focus. Railing into him. Deeper, tighter, drinking down his begging after I get the angle just right and rub over his spot with each thrust.
“Come,” I demand.
And it’s then that he loses it, calling out with a hoarse painful rapture as hot spunk shoots up his chest and coats my hands.
His passage squeezes tighter around me as he orgasms and the spasm of it sends me over the edge with lightning and sparks running from my balls up through my cock, spreading out through every part of me. I come hard and pump my seed into him, a final marking as he’s gasping and I’m holding him tighter until the last jerks of my climax leave me, and I lower us down onto the mattress, spooning us on our sides.
We’re both gasping, Sebastian chuckling between his drags of air.
His fingertips rub back and forth over the short hairs of my forearm where I’m holding him. I brush a kiss on his shoulder blade, dip my tongue out to lick the sweat shining on his skin.
“You are a motherfucking surprise, Prince,” he says.
“Why, had you imagined I’d forget how to do that? Give you what you need?”
“No, asshole.” He raises my arm and kisses the back of my hand. “I just forgot how contradictory you are.”
He wiggles back into me, buttocks rubbing against my spent shaft. I squeeze him tighter, making sure he knows he’s safe, keeping as much of his skin pressed against as much of mine, wanting him as close as possible. He shivers and my lips brush his messy hair, kissing the silk of red.
I sigh deeply with the soft pleasure of it.
At my sigh Sebastian stiffens in my arms, a new rigidity, and he’s suddenly pulling out of my hold. He scrambles off the mattress and picks up his discarded clothes in jerky movements.
“Sebastian?” I ask, hating the cold that replaces his body. “What are you doing?”
“It’s okay, you don’t want to do this. You told me. Just give me a sec to get my stuff and we can sit like grownups and talk about the magic and planning and shit then I’ll go to my room, give you space.”
“Stop!”
But Sebastian is still trying to pull on his briefs and pants. Shoving arms through the holes of his shirt even though his limbs are shaking with the movements.
No, something is wrong. I’m off of the bed and striding over to him.
“Wha…. Wait!” he calls in surprise as I pull the top back off, grab at the waist of the pants and underwear to tear them down again, then bend, lift him off his feet, throw him over my shoulder, and carry him back to the bed where I dump him on the mattress.
“Stay!”
Then I’m crawling on top of him and pinning him with my weight. My arms are back around him and my hand strokes exposed skin. My other at his neck where I place my palm under his nape and cradle the base of his skull.
“Angel, I love you. Pause with me. Let me hold you longer.”
The shivering continues and I stroke and touch and soothe as I rest my forehead against his.
Outside the glass of the windows, the trees in the inner courtyard sway in the black of the night, ignoring us in their own version of dance.
Finally, time slips by and his shaking quiets, stops.
The silence stretches, until it’s his own deep sigh that fills the room.
“Now, my Angel,” I say. “Explain.”