Take It Off

by Aleksandr Voinov

  Rolex cleared his throat. “The belt. Take it off.”

  “Don’t rush me.” Jared looked right at Tristan. “There’s a method to my madness.” His hands materialised on Tristan’s calves, and Tristan’s heart pounded as Jared ran them up. Down. Up again. In a smooth, fluid motion, they went from Tristan’s legs to his own hips, drawing a curving path over his cock – yeah, Tristan, you see how hard I am – before coming back up to his belt buckle. His abs were quivering now, his leg muscles rock hard over the tops of Tristan’s thighs, and the cords in his neck stood out slightly as he continued to hold himself in that perfectly balanced position.

  He unbuckled his belt, then tugged it free, leather hissing over leather as it slid out of the loops. Without breaking eye contact with Tristan, he dropped his belt, and then pulled himself up using only his legs and his toned abs. He wrapped those legs around Tristan and the back of the chair, pressing their clothed cocks together, and then kissed Tristan hard.

  “I’m not usually a kisser,” Tristan had said to Jared a while back. “But the johns like it. A lot.”

  “Do they?” Jared had grinned, and hadn’t hesitated to kiss since then.

  For the johns. Because the johns liked it. Jared was doing this for Rolex. Just for the john. But Tristan indulged anyway, tangling his tongue with Jared’s and kissing him like he meant it, because fuck it, he did. As deeply, passionately, intimately as he could without breaking the rules and taking his hands off the chair.

  “That is fucking amazing,” Rolex breathed. “Holy shit.”

  My sentiments exactly.

  Jared broke the kiss. For a split second, he looked breathless and flustered, and it was sweet, shy Jared holding Tristan’s gaze. Then his eyes narrowed as he swept his tongue across his lips. “Only one thing left. Just the trousers.” His grin made Tristan’s heart pound even harder, especially when he added, “Better make it count.”

  Tristan tried so hard to clear his head, just enough to regain control of the money negotiations, because he needed that one last bit of control over something. Though, fucking hell, this performance alone was worth being so precariously close to falling apart.

  Tristan turned his head towards the john, who leaned forwards on the couch. He’d taken off his jacket, his cufflinks too, rolled up his fine white sleeves, and his lower arms showed the tension, his muscles and sinews playing as he balled his fists and loosened them again. Just what kind of kick did a guy get out of watching alone? Seemed like a waste when he could have fucked them both, or joined them.

  Whatever.

  Jared got up, then put a hand on Tristan’s shoulder and walked around him, running his fingers over Tristan’s chest, down his pecs, making sure he was rubbing against his nipples. He slid his hands further down until they framed Tristan’s cock in his trousers – all for the john’s viewing pleasure, and yeah, to drive Tristan just that little bit more insane as the leather tightened over his erection. One hand continued down and cupped his balls.

  “You are so hot when you’re frustrated,” Jared whispered so softly only Tristan could have heard. Which meant that was just for him, not Rolex. Tristan’s stomach fluttered, but before he could respond, Jared said to the john, “I’m down to trousers and nothing else.” His lips brushed Tristan’s cheek. “What about him?”

  The john laughed dryly. “He’s fine.”

  Oh, you bastard. Tristan bit back a groan when Jared slid back up, palm running over his cock, giving him some sweet pressure, but it didn’t last very long.

  Jared chuckled. “I tried.”

  Tristan was nearly shaking on his chair. He tightened his hands around the seat and thought he heard it creak a little. Jared came back around, never breaking the touch, then put both hands on Tristan’s thighs. He slid down onto his knees, bringing his face very close to the leather seam of Tristan’s trousers, like he was about to give him a blowjob.

  “I want –” The john moved forward. “Take him out of his trousers. Show me his cock.”

  Jared lifted his head just enough to look the john in the eye. “Just show you? Or should I touch him?”

  “Yeah. Both.” Without missing a beat, the john put more money down.

  This was as far removed from a normal lap dance as it could be, but Tristan was glad some of that pressure would ease now. His cock was trying already to punch through the leather, and that part wasn’t fun anymore. Jared opened Tristan’s fly, still mimicking a blowjob as he pulled the zipper down and folded the leather back, then pulled Tristan’s briefs down far enough to bare his cock. He pushed the briefs down under Tristan’s balls, exposing him to anything Jared wanted to do to him.

  The music continued. Jared’s snake-like movements turned into something different as the tip of his tongue slid all the way from the root of Tristan’s cock to the tip. This ... this was getting out of hand extremely fast, and Tristan definitely felt the chair creak as he tensed and forced himself to stay still and quiet.

  Didn’t I have a plan tonight? Wasn’t I going to ... didn’t I ... there was ...

  Jared looked up at him, his face flushed a bit, his eyes gleaming with mischief and power. It said Got you, and Payback, and What now, Tristan?

  Tristan shook his head but forced a grin.

  A grin that evaporated the second Jared took every inch of Tristan’s cock into his mouth. Tristan gasped. Shuddered. He pulled in a breath and held it, his entire body rigid as he fought to stay in something like control. Jared’s head bobbed over Tristan, moving in time with the music, and his hand slid up the side of Tristan’s thigh, almost to his arse, and then his fingers pressed in slightly. Dug in. He drew his hand back, fingers squeaking across the leather and making Tristan even crazier because he wanted Jared’s hand on his skin. Touching him. Just like Jared’s mouth was, his lips and tongue teasing painfully sensitive flesh while his fingers were kept at bay by thin leather.

  “Don’t you fucking come yet,” Rolex growled.

  Tristan gritted his teeth. The explicit denial of his orgasm made it that much harder to hold back.

  Wait. Shouldn’t I be telling him I won’t come until he pays? What the hell is going on tonight?

  Something rustled. More money. Oh fuck, they were turning up the heat again.

  “Trousers off.”

  Jared slowly lifted off Tristan’s cock, pausing to swirl his tongue around the tip once before he looked at Rolex. “Whose? His or mine?”

  Rolex swallowed. “Yours.”

  Jared waited for the money to join the growing stack. Then he looked up at Tristan. “I think that can be arranged, don’t you?”

  Tristan moistened his lips. “I think so. Yes.” Please, please take them off.

  Jared leaned in and dropped a light kiss on Tristan’s mouth. Before Tristan could make sense of that or even try to return the kiss, Jared stood. He stayed very close, his groin inches from Tristan’s mouth. And, of course, his hips moved. God, they moved. Tristan didn’t even know if they were in synch with the music anymore. He couldn’t hear the music anymore. He only knew that Jared, with his swivelling and undulating punctuated by the occasional hip snap to one side or the other, drove him insane. He wanted nothing more than to grab those hips, hold on tight, and drive himself into Jared again and again until Jared came and Tristan relieved this ache. The thought of getting Jared off – God, the sounds he made when he came – only made things worse, and Tristan held the sides of the chair so tight he thought he was going to snap off a piece of the wood.

  Just as Jared had done everything else tonight, he made a deliberate, calculated display of unbuttoning and unzipping his trousers. Tristan’s jaw ached as he ground his teeth, watching the zipper separate one tooth at a time. Beneath it, Jared’s erection strained against the leather, just waiting to be freed, and Tristan’s mouth watered. He swore he could already hear the john telling him to suck that cock, and he was more than willing to obey whether or not there was money involved.

  Tight leather trousers didn
’t come off easily or smoothly, but damn if Jared hadn’t got that memo. He slid his hands under the waistband, hooked his thumbs over it, and pushed downwards, using the never-ending motions of his hips to work himself out of the trousers. With a mind-blowing shimmy, he freed his thick erection, and Tristan thought he heard himself whisper “Bloody hell” as Jared continued to peel the leather off his toned legs.

  Movement beside him caught Tristan’s attention, and he stole a glance at Rolex. The john was slowly stroking his groin through his trousers as he watched, slack-jawed. His eyes flicked towards Tristan’s, narrowed by some unspoken thought, and Tristan was sure he saw a challenge there.

  No way I’m coming before you do.

  You’re losing it, aren’t you?

  Tristan smirked. Make me.

  He turned back to Jared just in time to see him step out of his last stitch of clothing. It was impossible to say if Jared stopped to let Tristan take in the sight, or if time itself had stopped, but Tristan just stared at him. Head to toe, taking in every inch of lean, powerful muscles, narrow hips, sculpted abs with only the thinnest treasure trail leading from his navel to his cock, which he was stroking with one fine hand.

  Tristan looked up at his face. Jared’s skin was flushed, and ... that grin. Fuck. He was totally in control right now, and he knew it. Tristan didn’t have a submissive bone in his body, but if Jared was like this when he was on top, there wasn’t much Tristan wouldn’t do if Jared snapped his fingers and demanded it.

  Holy fuck, what is wrong with me?

  Jared took a step forwards, and time lurched back into motion. He put a bare knee on the chair in front of Tristan, his thigh nearly touching Tristan’s exposed balls, close enough to share some body heat, and then put his hands on the back of the chair as he leaned in close. “Like what you see?”

  Tristan nodded mutely, just like a mesmerised, turned on, nearly insane strip club patron.

  Jared’s grin turned even more devilish. Still looking right at Tristan, he said, “You know, he could fuck me like this if you coughed up another, say, two hundred?”

  Tristan almost choked, and it wasn’t because of the price.

  “I do love the way you think,” Rolex said. “Here.”

  Jared turned, and Rolex tossed a condom to him. Jared caught it. Then came the small bottle of lube. “I’ll put this on him.” Jared tore the condom wrapper with his teeth. “You get the money out.”

  “On it, don’t worry,” Rolex murmured. “And you” – he looked up from thumbing through the cash and met Tristan’s eyes – “no coming ’till I pay for that, right?”

  Tristan swallowed. “Right.”

  “That seems kind of cruel, don’t you think?” Jared wrapped his fingers around Tristan’s cock and started rolling on the condom. “I like it.”

  Groaning, Tristan closed his eyes and let his head fall back. A dry laugh reminded him of the unspoken power game with the john, of his own refusal to let someone see him lose control, and he forced himself to recover. He raised his head and blinked his eyes into focus. Deep breath. In control. I’ve got this.

  That was, until Jared opened the bottle of lube and poured some into his hand.

  Oh fuck.

  Their eyes met as Jared ran his lubed hand up and down Tristan’s erection. Tristan searched his expression, silently begging for some sign there was more going on here than a transaction. Even the faintest flicker of genuine lust. Something.

  Jared grinned, but before Tristan could decide what that meant, Jared turned around again. He pushed his arse out, running his fingers into and along his own crack, teasing Tristan with the view and those rolling hip movements that wouldn’t have been out of place on a deliciously slutty harem boy.

  Then he turned around again and stepped on the chair between Tristan’s legs, sliding down into a crouch, hands on Tristan’s shoulders to steady himself, though his balance and poise were perfect. He sat nearly back on his heels, his cock rubbing against Tristan’s for the first time in God way too long.

  But he pushed his arse out towards the john, one hand reaching back. He sucked in a sharp breath, probably as he breached himself with his fingers, and Tristan wished he could see that, even if it cost him his last bit of sanity. Jared moistened his lips, closed his eyes, and pushed further back as he played with his arsehole in front of the john. Tristan was breathless, needed to remind himself that, according to the rules, he wasn’t allowed to touch. Jared was running this, and just how well he did it shocked Tristan to the core. Jared was cute and sweet, a twink who could look so innocent and fresh, but this wicked sex kitten persona really rattled Tristan. Rattled him and threw him off his game. The more Tristan saw of this side of Jared, the harder it was to focus on conveying how much he wanted all sides of him.

  “How ... how’s this gonna work?” he whispered.

  “Don’t worry about it, honey.” Jared grinned at him. “Just remember, the dancer does the pole dance. The pole stays still.”

  Oh. Hell. Fucking. Hell.

  “I’ll strangle you,” Tristan mouthed.

  “Hot.” Jared grinned at him, straightening up already, sliding his leg back before doing another one of those sharp turns.

  Scorching. Tristan was sure his skin would turn to ash, he was so hot now, and he had no way to react, move, or do as much as fidget. Not when Jared shook his arse at him again before lowering himself onto Tristan’s groin – or nearly. He reached back, took Tristan’s cock and, slowly, oh so slowly, hips still moving, undulated and teased Tristan head with every near-brush and bit of pressure.

  Just when Tristan thought he could take no more, Jared pushed back, both their legs open wide so the john had a perfect view of Jared impaling himself.

  It was mind-bending, the pressure, the heat, and just knowing he was inside Jared, and still Jared moved, grinding, sliding, up and down, completely in control of every motion. Tristan gasped and moaned, too fucking close to losing it, and it only got worse when Jared took Tristan’s hands – damn near wrenched them off the seat of the chair – and put them on his naked torso. “Make sweet love to me, baby,” Jared whispered, rolling his hips just so.

  Tristan was in no state to laugh at the cheesy line. Performance. They were giving the john what he wanted, so he ran his fingers, his palms along that slinking body on top of his, all the way down to Jared’s cock, hard and gorgeous.

  “Don’t touch him,” the john said.

  Shit. Please? “But he –”

  “You heard him.” Jared took Tristan’s wrists and lifted his hands away. Tristan made a soft breathless sound as he grabbed onto the chair again, fingers and palms still warm from Jared’s hot skin. He bit his lip, dug his teeth in hard, gripping the chair like it could somehow keep him from losing his already tenuous grasp on control.

  “Fuck.” He closed his eyes. “Oh fuck ...”

  “My, my, he wears ‘losing it’ well, doesn’t he?” Rolex taunted.

  “He does.” Jared reached back and held onto Tristan’s hips as he kept riding him in time with the music still playing somewhere in the background. “Don’t you, darling?”

  Tristan didn’t care. He didn’t care at all. Let them tease him, because he couldn’t think past his impending orgasm and this taut, gorgeous body moving up and down on his cock – holy fuck, Jared – and he was this close to calling time on their game and just fucking the hell out of Jared.

  “Faster,” Rolex said, almost whispering. “Do it faster.”

  “With pleasure,” Jared purred, and obeyed.

  Tristan shut his eyes tighter and held his breath. That didn’t help. His head just got lighter, and his orgasm just got closer, and he couldn’t remember ever being inside someone who moved like that, as if Jared wasn’t about to stop performing his lap dance just because he was getting fucked.

  Getting fucked? Hardly. Tristan may have been the one with the condom on, but Jared was in control. Jared was on top. Jared was fucking him. And Tristan was falling apart. No
matter how much he held back, the only thing he had a grip on was this bloody chair, and even that wasn’t going to last long with the way his hands were sweating.

  Movement beside him brought him out of his thoughts. He had just enough time to realise the john wasn’t on the couch anymore before a warm hand touched his shoulder. Tristan sucked in a breath. Rolex’s hand drifted from Tristan’s shoulder to his neck, then up to his face.

  “You look like you could use something to keep your mouth busy,” the john growled in his ear, and Tristan didn’t resist at all as the man slid two fingers into his mouth. Hot, salty skin pressed against his tongue. He closed his eyes again, groaning softly, and sucked Rolex’s fingers.

  “I should charge you for that,” Jared said, and he was out of breath. His voice was shaky, just like it always was when Tristan pushed him right to the brink. Tristan couldn’t even grit his teeth, not with those fingers in his mouth, and he groaned again, this time with both frustration and arousal.

  “He really knows how to dance, doesn’t he?” Rolex whispered.

  Before he could tell himself not to fall for it, Tristan opened his eyes, and now he was both watching and feeling Jared rising and falling on Tristan’s cock while turning his hips and shoulders. Still dancing. God, he was still dancing.

  Jared’s head fell back. Tristan caught a glimpse of his face in profile, and Jared’s lips were pressed together, his brow furrowed. So close. So close.

  Fuck. To hell with it.

  Tristan let go of the seat. He grabbed Rolex’s wrist and pulled his fingers from his mouth. Then he grabbed onto Jared’s hips and, as much as the position allowed, thrust up into him.

  Jared moaned. His body went almost completely slack for a second, but he recovered, and he started to move with Tristan instead of the music.

  So what if he’d lost control? So what if he’d lost whatever game they were playing? He couldn’t help it. He wanted Jared, needed Jared, had to have Jared, and didn’t give a damn about anything else.

  “Oh shit,” he breathed, and shut his eyes tight. He gritted his teeth, forced himself into Jared, and came so bloody hard, he had to – ironically – grab onto the chair again to keep from collapsing.