by Jet Lupin
“Or maybe that’s just how things work,” Samson said. “That we got here anyway is something to be happy about in itself.”
Samson’s expression softened, turning thoughtful. “My dad’s had me observed for that long… What are we going to do about him?”
“That’s a problem for tomorrow. Let’s not let it ruin tonight.”
Samson seemed to agree. He reached up, fingers curling around the back of Cut’s neck, gently tracing over the muscle with his fingertips. He drew Cut down and met him halfway. The kiss was soft and hesitant at first, but the more Cut pressed, the more Samson gave in. Of all the things they’d done together, nothing got Cut’s blood pumping like the way they kissed.
They parted soon after, Cut’s neck starting to hurt from the weird angle, but he wanted more. “Let’s go to bed.”
Samson thought he’d actually sleep on the couch even though they already shared his bed for several nights. Cut’s was less comfortable, but he was welcome to it. He let Samson find a comfortable spot first. Cut stood at the foot of the bed, stripping off his shirt. Samson watched his every move, barely breathing.
He outlined the planes of Cut’s belly with his gaze, down to the top of his shorts. Cut had never felt so desired. If he’d ever doubted his looks before, he was cured of such an affliction now.
Samson’s need was almost a third presence in their bed, so heavy and titillating. His gaze burned into Cut, but he remained still and silent. Cut laid down in the space left to him, tucking his hands behind his head.
Samson hovered closer, propped up on an elbow. He kept his hands on his side of the bed. This was shaping up to be more awkward than Cut had anticipated. Shutting his eyes helped, though only slightly.
“I hope the bed’s comfortable for you.” Again, no words. Cut was starting to think he should put his shirt back on.
“Can I touch you?”
Cut opened his eyes and fixed them on Samson. “You didn’t ask permission to kiss me in the living room. Why ask for this?”
“This is different. We’ve kissed before, but I’ve never gotten to touch you, other than…” He didn’t need to finish. Cut knew full well what he meant. “I’ve always wanted to, but you never took your clothes off. I thought maybe you didn’t like that sort of thing or it was a rule that I couldn’t touch you.”
So Samson had thought it strange too…
“Would you believe I never thought about it? I was always so focused on you and what you needed, it slipped my mind. You can touch me now and whenever you like.”
Samson didn’t need convincing.
He went slowly, a hand on Cut’s neck again as he lowered himself down for another kiss that made warmth gather between Cut’s legs. He drifted down over Cut’s collarbone, his chest. Cut shivered. He didn’t realize how badly he needed this. Samson’s hands were large and surprisingly smooth. They closed over him, cupping, teasing, making his toes curl.
“I want to see you lose it,” Samson groaned next to his ear. “Let me do that for you.”
Samson rocked against Cut, his erection burning into his thigh. Cut reached out for him, wanting to give back, but Samson grabbed his hand. He drew Cut’s finger into his mouth, and the sound he made surprised even him. They’d only done this once, but he remembered how easily Cut had gone to pieces. He was a quick study.
Samson moved until he was between Cut’s legs, stretched out on his belly. He rubbed his cheek against Cut’s length, worshiping him with his hands before he took him into his wet, eager mouth. Cut gripped his head and rode him out for a few strokes, but then made him stop.
“Get those pants off. Shirt too.” The croaks in his voice didn’t sound as authoritative as he wanted. They hadn’t agreed that this was a session, so it wasn’t one. It was two people figuring each other out. But that didn’t mean it couldn’t have some of the elements of a session. Samson responded to the tone.
Samson backed off the bed until his feet were on the floor, giving himself room to drop his drawers without elbowing Cut in the face. This was the first time Cut had seen him without a stitch on. Not a sock, not a pair of briefs. It was like a dream: Samson, here in this room, absolutely naked. He could die happy after this.
“Now lie down.”
He watched Samson crawl towards him. The only thing that would have made this better was seeing him from the back, too. Something to remember for next time.
He reached up to the shelf overhead and realized he was out of condoms. They’d both been tested, but it felt rude to expect Samson to clean up in his dinky bathroom. The next time they were together like this would be some place nice, some place better. Samson deserved better.
He guided Samson onto his back and got between his legs. He took both their cocks in hand, and with a drizzle of the lube from the shelf, he stroked them both.
Samson kept his eyes on their cocks, moving slick against each other. Cut wouldn’t be surprised if this was his first time seeing something like this. This was a lot slower and more intimate than the way guys he’d dated in Izanami were used to getting down. He wanted to go at this in courses and take his time. There’d be no rushing to the main event.
Cut let him watch all he wanted, but, Cut’s release was getting dangerously close. He switched off to just stroking Samson. He wanted them to come together. Did Samson have that in him?
Samson seemed beyond words, groping at Cut, biting his own fingers hard, leaving the shape of his teeth behind. He thrust up into Cut’s slippery grasp, his cock already leaking. He was ready to burst from watching.
Cut freed that abused hand, and, linking their fingers together, he pressed them both into the bed.
“Look at me.”
Samson lifted his gaze with great effort, his whole body shaking. Cut felt a tug in his chest when he looked into those gray eyes. This felt real. As if nothing mattered outside of them in this moment, in this bedroom.
Cut’s balls drew up almost to the point of being painful as he spent himself on Samson’s belly and soon his release coated Cut’s fingers. Cut collapsed beside him, their hands still linked. He laid there a moment, listening to the competing sounds of their panting.
Samson reached for him, and the tender touch on Cut’s face was a comfort. It was so soft and warm, it made him drowsy. There was so much he had to do before he slept, but the bed was soft and Samson was looking at him so sweetly, and holding him tight. Samson would forgive him for dozing off right after, but he hoped he could forgive himself.
Chapter 16
B
acon popping in the pan filled the apartment with its fatty aroma. It was sure to pique the interest and jealousy of Cut’s neighbors, but he didn’t care.
He could get used to being woken up like this.
Cut rolled over and grabbed his pod off the shelf. It was already ten-forty-five. This was an early start for him for a weekend, but Samson was already up and being industrious. He supposed he ought to get up, too.
He crawled out of bed and found Samson at the stove. He was in an apron, a tiny pair of shorts and nothing else. There were already several pieces of bacon draining on a plate next to him. When had he woken up?
Cut wedged himself behind him, molding his smaller body to Samson’s back. He kissed that bare shoulder, and Samson shivered in surprise. He glanced back at Cut.
“I hope you’re hungry.”
“I definitely am.” The press of that glorious backside against his cock brought Cut around better than a cup of caf ever could. He slipped a hand under Samson’s apron and stroked his bare stomach.
Samson’s movements slowed, Cut proving to be the distraction he’d hoped for. “I thought we could eat first?”
“I’ll eat you.” Cut didn’t see why they couldn’t do both, but he backed off for now. “I’ll go put on some pants,” he mumbled. But that was as much as he was willing to do before breakfast.
He threw on his sleep shorts from last night and after a
nother diverted attempt to offer his morning contribution, he was exiled to the couch. Samson came out shortly with a simple meal of bacon and eggs with toast. Cut went back and made tea to go with their meal to prove he could be helpful.
He sat again, and Samson slid close until they touched. He wanted to apologize for not having a proper table, but this was better. Samson had settled in like he’d always been here. Cut liked it.
“I really like your place,” Samson said again, unprompted. “It feels like someone actually lives here. And there’s no wasted space. It’s… cozy.”
From anyone else that would have been the nice way of pointing out how small and cramped the place was, but Cut chose to take it as the compliment it sounded like. Samson didn’t have a snarky bone in his body.
Samson’s luxury apartment felt big and empty with plenty of room for new things, knickknacks, paintings and the like. Cut’s place was only like this because there was no space to waste. He only had room for the essentials, and even those were in sparing amounts. Clothes, data pads, toiletries. Mikela had come over and personally rearranged things to make room for the plants. If he had the space, Cut’s place would have as many pretty, unnecessary things as Samson’s.
“Thanks. Don’t think I’ve ever called it ‘cozy’ before.”
“Well, it is.”
Cut raised a brow. “You sound so sure…”
“Oh, I am. You’ll have to trust me on this.” Samson winked at him.
Someone was feeling cheeky this morning. Cut wasn’t mad at it.
“How’d you sleep?” It seemed well, but Cut wouldn’t assume. His leg bounced a little in his nervousness, but he stopped it with a hand on his knee. He just wanted Samson to enjoy being here. To enjoy being with him outside of what they normally did.
“I slept well. Your bed’s super comfortable, though, when I woke up this morning, I couldn’t get back to sleep.”
The tension that started to bleed out of Cut at the beginning of that sentence, coiled up in his belly by the end of it. “O-oh? How come?”
Samson popped his last piece of bacon into his mouth, unconcerned. “I kept thinking about what you told me about my father, what he offered you, about him spying on me. You should tell him you’ll do it.”
Cut’s heart sank a couple of inches. “Don’t tell me you’re giving up.”
“I’m not. But if he hears from you, it might keep him off my back. I took what you said to heart last time about cutting the purse strings. I’m going to do everything I can to become self-sufficient. I started taking steps as soon as I was set up to make sales, but there’s more to do before I’m completely free of him. Letting him think he’s spying on me ought to buy us both some time until we figure out how to deal with this.”
The way Samson talked about it, it sounded like it wasn’t a matter of if, but of when. He was so laser focused on what he wanted, it was like he was a new man. Cut loved it when he got all passionate like that as much as he loved his obedient side.
“I’ll do whatever I can do to help.” Feeding his father lies wasn’t much, but he was all in.
“There is one more thing I need.” Samson’s passion simmered down, no longer bold, but still smoldering in the background. He held out his hand. “Will you be with me? I’d like things between us to stay as much like they are right now, if we can. I’ve come to rely on you to keep me sane. I know that’s asking a lot of you, both from our earlier arrangement and as my…my boyfriend now, but—”
Cut took his hand and held it. “Of course I will. You’re pretty much stuck with me. Things have changed so much between us already. But they’ll only get better from here on out.” He leaned in and punctuated his words with a kiss.
Chapter 17
C
ut wasn’t happy about playing the role Ramzan had made for him, but at the moment, there was no other choice.
Ramzan sent over details within the hour of what he expected from Cut and when to expect payment. It was all very official looking, written very clearly. The Bas did like their official documents.
At the end of each week, Cut was to draft up an account of Deyaa’s business dealings using the included template. A template! Who did that? If something momentous happened, Cut was to notify Ramzan the same day. He also wanted documents corroborating Cut’s claims if available. Cut shared all of this information with Samson as he got it.
“I don’t get why he wants you to give this to him,” Samson said as they looked over Ramzan’s terms together before they prepped for a meeting. “He’s on the board. If he asked for most of this, or waited for a quarterly report, he could have it.”
“Maybe he doesn’t want to wait,” Cut said. “Or maybe he doesn’t trust the reports?”
“Or he isn’t sure if he can trust you.”
It all went along with what Cut picked up from him: an intense need to exert control over those he considered lesser. There were few people Cut disliked more than Ramzan Ba.
He would get his information, though not all of it would be true.
Some of it was outdated, like profit reports, and there were appointments that were never scheduled to happen, or had happened months ago. But Samson was careful with the financials. Too much movement in either direction would set off anyone’s bullshit meter. They were orchestrating a gradual decline on paper with just enough truth to make it believable. Hopefully Ramzan found the lies easy to swallow.
One such falsified report stated that they were expanding their suppliers but had been met with rejections. The truth was that they were looking for more cost efficient ways of acquiring what they needed, as far out of Ramzan’s range of influence as possible.
Samson tightened up on what information was released to the staff, sending the company’s real numbers to a privileged few, ones he knew he could trust, while the others in the company got the false information he intended for his father. Later, they’d simply redact the misinformation. That wasn’t unheard of, especially when the numbers were estimates to begin with.
Cut sent four weeks of reports and in that time, he received no payment, not that it had ever been about that, but Cut had to keep up appearances. After the fourth report was sent, and no payment came to him, he stopped sending reports. Did Ramzan think him some sort of fool?
If this hadn’t all been a ruse, being so taken advantage of would have pissed Cut off. He was ready to write Ramzan off completely until one night, there was a knock at his apartment door.
Samson hadn’t mentioned coming by. Cut was supposed to visit his place tomorrow, but it wasn’t hard to imagine Samson being too eager to wait until then and coming over, begging for some alone time. Cut went to the door but his face fell when he looked into the peephole cam. He sighed as he cracked open the door.
“You don’t have to look so disappointed,” Rami said. His smug face made Cut sick in his gut after what he’d built up in his head. “Expecting someone else?”
“Anyone but you,” he said flatly. “I don’t have time for games. It’s late, and I have work in the morning, so if you’ll excuse me.” Cut started to close the door, but Rami wedged it open with his foot until it rolled back along its track. Cut toed the intruder stop, keeping the door from opening any further. Those three inches were all Rami was getting.
“Not going to ask how I knew where to find you?”
“Considering your father paid someone to follow your brother, and then to look into me, no, none at all. I do want to know why you won’t get away from my door. I’m within my rights to tase you and throw you out.” He felt along the wall to his right until his palm rested on the taser’s emergency case. It came standard with every tenement. He’d never had to use it before, but he was up for it.
Rami backed up until he thought he was out of Cut’s reach. “Belay your weapon. I have something for you.”
Why wasn’t Cut surprised? Was he nothing more than a glorified delivery boy?
Cut held out his ha
nd. Whatever it was, it was small, and Cut hadn’t seen it just by looking at him. It would fit in Cut’s palm. But Rami didn’t hand it over.
“You aren’t going to invite me in?”
“Not if I don’t have to.”
“Then you don’t mind your neighbors getting a glimpse of our illicit transaction? Someone calling the stripes is a lot more attention than you need, I imagine?”
There was no reason for anyone to think that unless one of them started acting suspect. That was as good a threat as any. A door behind Rami opened up a crack. Cut saw a pair of eyes peering through.
Cut sighed in disgust, taking his foot off the intruder stop. “Get in here.”
It widened and Rami stepped through, wiping his hands on his pants as if they were suddenly covered in grime. The door quietly glided closed behind him.
Rami’s smug look of triumph only made Cut hate him more. He was now in the running for Cut’s least favorite person.
Rami took in the apartment in long strides, appraising everything with his eyes and picking up things as they came into his reach, and then he put them back down the wrong way. Cut couldn’t wait to be rid of him.
“OK. So what are you here for?”
“Aren’t you going to offer me some refreshments?”
“Drinks are for guests. You’re an errand boy.”
“You and Samson have the same terrible manners.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a thin envelope. “Your first payment. Papa’s gone back home for the time being and trying to wire money to you from there is a hassle, so he asked me to pay you out of my own.”
Cut snatched the envelope from him and tossed it onto the bed. There, transaction complete. He didn’t need the whole back story. “We done?”
Rami was not done.
He took another long look around, rubbing his fingers to rid them of the imaginary grime.
