"You're still pissed?"
Michael's teeth flashed in a tight grin. “Big time. You're the reason I can't get a blow job in the shower, remember?"
Steve frowned. “Logically, that doesn't make much sense,” he began and then caught Michael's eye. “I'm going to stop talking now."
"Good plan, Steve."
Michael walked into the bathroom that led off the bedroom and Steve was left to listen to nothing but the hiss of water hitting Michael's naked body.
Fuck. This wasn't going the way he'd planned it at all. He'd pictured Michael yelling—he wasn't sure why; Michael rarely raised his voice—and then a paddling, himself repentant, gasping for breath, or even a spanking over Michael's knee, followed by sex that would leave them both mellow and relaxed.
Stupid of him. No matter how much he fucked up, Michael wouldn't handle it that way and Steve didn't really want him to; he just wanted the peace that followed the pain and the connection that he felt when he was in position for a spanking, Michael close by, a calm, strong presence.
He'd have them both eventually, Michael wouldn't stay pissed for ever. He just hadn't realized that he wasn't going to get them right away. He glanced down at his cock, only half-hard now, and sighed.
His concentration was shot to hell and staring at the paddle only served to remind him of what he was missing, so he closed his eyes.
You're not the only one having trouble at work.
Michael's words echoed in his head and made him frown. If Michael was beating himself up for missing cues, the same went for Steve, who hadn't realized that Michael was unhappy in a job he usually loved. Whether it was fixable or something Michael was going to have to live with didn't matter; Steve should have at least noticed and offered whatever comfort he could give.
Even if it was just a blow job—and why should Michael have to go without one of those just because he had an asshole for a boyfriend, dammit? Steve stood, intending to go to Michael, just as Michael came back into the room, his dark hair sleek and wet, his skin flushed and beaded with water. A towel was wrapped around his hips, doing nothing to obscure the lines of a body that had made Steve fall to his knees more than once, ready and willing to worship.
"You need a break again?” Michael asked, his concern plain even though Steve could see that he wasn't off the hook yet. Hot water could only do so much to cool someone down.
"No, I just—I was going to go to you."
"After I told you not to?"
Steve arched his eyebrows. “We don't do this around the clock,” he reminded Michael. “Which sounds like another way of saying that you're not the boss of me, but I guess what I really mean is that I get to take care of you, too, and maybe tonight you need that more than I do."
He watched Michael absorb that and felt the tension build until Michael nodded an ungrudging agreement. “Yeah. You're right. This isn't really a scene; not when it started the way it did. I shouldn't have told you to come home and do this."
"Oh, you should have,” Steve told him. “It helped. Big time."
"Really?” Michael narrowed his eyes. “So why end it?"
"Because you need to...” Steve waved his hand around aimlessly. “I don't know. Chill? Start over? And you can't do that in a scene that began with you angry with me, so we take a break, and then both of us get what we want."
Michael moved closer, the heat from his skin like a caress on Steve's body. “What do you want?” Michael asked and touched him for the first time since he'd walked in, his hand skimming up Steve's arm and back again, a light, possessive touch that was all it took for Steve to get fully hard again.
"Oh, God, you know what I want,” Steve said and didn't care that he was putting it all out there for Michael to see. Months of being with the man had brought him to the point where he could do this and not worry about coming over as too needy. Michael liked being wanted.
"Tell me.” Michael leaned in and mouthed Steve's neck, low down, where it met his shoulder, and made him shudder, goose bumps breaking out. “Got to tell me, sweetheart, you know that. Rule number whatever the fuck it is."
Steve moaned, the sound meant to be a chuckle, but Michael was biting now, sharp scrapes of his teeth over sensitized skin. “Seven, I think—God, Michael, let me, want to, let me suck you ... please?"
He would have done anything, but that was what Michael had asked for, as much as Michael ever did ask for anything, and his mouth was ready to reshape itself around Michael's cock, his tongue eager to lick and tease and do whatever Michael told it to, until words went away and all that was left was the harsh, sweet sound of Michael's breath caught between a whimper and a groan.
Michael kissed him, soft and wet, the lap of his tongue against Steve's permission enough, instruction enough. Steve went to his knees and waited, his body shaking with eagerness, for Michael to tug at the towel and bare himself.
"Oh, I'll let you,” Michael murmured, his voice tight, controlled, all the annoyance gone. “I'll fuck your mouth until you can't taste anything but me, and don't even think about coming, because I won't. Not yet. And you don't get to until I have."
Michael stepped back and left Steve facing emptiness. The protest that rose to his lips went unspoken because Michael was walking over to the paddle and unhooking it from the wall, the towel he wore discarded on the way with an impatient yank. Steve watched it fall to the floor and then glanced up at Michael's ass, firm and tight, the skin paler there. He'd marked it with his mouth the week before, bitten it red, bruised it gently, when Michael had asked to be rimmed. He'd taken forever to get to the point where his tongue was anywhere near Michael's hole, obeying the order to take his time until Michael was panting, writhing, his hands clawing at the bed covers.
For once, it'd been fun to be in control, and the spanking he'd gotten later to get them back to normal had been the perfect thank you.
"I think we're going to change things tonight,” Michael said, back in front of Steve, his cock up and interested, the paddle in his hand. “Just a little. You okay with that, Steve?"
"Change things how?"
"You're so cautious. Don't you trust me?"
Steve glanced up. “You taught me how to be both. Careful and trusting. I don't say thank you half enough, but I owe you for that."
Michael exhaled and then went down on one knee, his free hand cupping Steve's face. “God, when you say stuff like that, you just—you don't know what it does to me."
"It's true.” Steve brushed his lips over Michael's and felt a surge of tenderness when Michael's hand held him in place so that the kiss could be returned. “And I trust you, sure I do. Why wouldn't I? You take better care of me than I do, always."
"I try to, anyway.” Michael moved to the bed and sat on the edge of it, then turned Steve so that he was kneeling between Michael's legs. The paddle, he placed across his lap, where it drew and held Steve's gaze until Michael said softly, “Look at me."
"Yes, Michael.” The acknowledgment slipped out easily, as easily as Steve felt himself relax into a willing obedience.
"You like it when I use this on you, don't you?” The paddle was raised an inch or two and then fell back with a muted slap against Michael's thighs. “No, you love it. Remember when I took it down and made you kneel beside me and watch me polish it? You came just from that and it didn't even touch you."
Steve bit his lip hard to hold back the moan. Fuck, that had been hot ... The white duster against the dark wood, and the smell of oil; the careful attention Michael had given to the task ... all of it arousing him to the point that when Michael had leaned over to kiss him, the paddle in his hand, Steve had arched up into the kiss, come spilling from his cock as rare tears stung his eyes. He'd never felt so out of control of his body; the climax was one nothing, not even a direct order from Michael, could have stopped. He still wasn't quite sure why it'd gotten to him so much seeing Michael lavish attention on one of their toys. “Yes."
"But I don't use it often. Would you like it
all the time?"
"No.” That didn't take any thought. Steve shook his head to back up the single word and when Michael gave an encouraging, questioning murmur, continued. “I'd never want to give up going over your knee and the paddle feels better when you've got room to swing."
"You mean it hurts more,” Michael said dryly.
"I can take it, you know I can."
Michael lifted the paddle, hooked it over his finger by the loop of leather, and let it swing between them for a few seconds. He slipped the loop off his finger and began to play with the paddle, petting it absently with the tips of his fingers and stroking its surface. “You push yourself too hard, babe, but yeah, you can take a lot. And when you get to your limit and want more, well, you can't push me past it, so it's all good."
"It's very good when you actually do it,” Steve said pointedly, hoping to provoke Michael into dragging him up and over Michael's knee for a few swats. He was trying to stay outwardly calm, but the paddle in Michael's hand and his own position, kneeling, the thrust of Michael's cock right there, so close ... he was going to lose it soon. Start begging.
"We need to work on your patience,” Michael said in what had to be a tease. “I'm hungry and you need to shower and eat, too."
Michael had a habit of spinning things out that Steve had to admit could lead to some explosive sex when he relented, but tonight it verged on sadistic. Pointing that out to Michael wouldn't get more than a grin and a drawled, “And your point would be?” so Steve didn't bother.
Instead, he held Michael's gaze and said quietly, “Please?” trusting to Michael to gauge his desperation and need well enough to get that he really, really couldn't wait. Not tonight. He was held down by threads, slender but numerous, and he needed to break free, but he couldn't do it alone. He needed the surrender, needed the pain that followed, burning, cleansing.
He needed Michael.
"Finish telling me why you don't want this every time.” The firm set to Michael's mouth was enough to make Steve change an objection to an answer.
"It's what you use when things get bad, mostly. Using it all the time would mean I'd feel as if—as if I was stuck in a rough patch."
Michael bit his lip, a rare show of indecision when they were like this. “Yeah, I can see how you'd make that association, but I'm not sure it's how I want you to see it. If I want to use it on you more, and I do, I need you to get past that and see it less as a 911 call and more of a—"
"Chat with a friend?” Steve suggested.
The corners of Michael's mouth twitched in amusement. “If you like."
"I can do that, but,” Steve swallowed. “You—you'll still spank me sometimes, right? With just your hand? Please?"
"Oh God, yes,” Michael said fervently. “I'm never going to give that up. And I don't give a fuck how far you want to go; the day I can't take you there with just my hand on your ass—"
"Won't happen.” Steve shook his head. “Uh-huh. No way.” He eyed the paddle and felt his arousal spike. The other times he'd felt the sting and burn of the polished wood, he'd been too overwhelmed by the intensity of the physical sensations and, twice, his own emotional state, to really pay attention to details. It would be interesting to get paddled when he was able—for a while at least—to concentrate on more than the throb of his ass.
"This isn't something we'll do if you don't want it,” Michael said. “If you want to wait, or keep it the way it is now, then that's fine."
"I want...” Steve fell silent for a moment. “I want to make you happy,” he said finally and surprised himself. His selfishness, as more than one partner had put it, was something he'd never made much effort to overcome before, because if he didn't put himself first, who would, but now that he had Michael looking out for him ... “And I know you never punish me when I screw up because that's not what we do with this, but you're not mad now, so there's nothing stopping you from getting rid of your frustration on me. I want you to. And we can eat any time, but if you don't tell me to suck you soon and then use whatever the hell you want on my ass, I'm going to...” He paused and tried to think of something suitable as a threat.
"I'm going to apologize some more,” he said finally, when Michael didn't say anything to help him out. “Until you believe that I mean it when I say I'm sorry."
"I already do.” Michael smiled at him, sunrise time after a dark, scary night. “When your window came down and you saw it was me who'd pulled you over, before you started mouthing off, there was this moment when you looked so fucking scared and guilty, that I knew you didn't mean most of what you said afterward.” He tapped the paddle against his hand. “Which doesn't mean that I'm not going to be thinking about some of the shit you came up with when I'm using this. We don't bring fights into our bedroom, but I'm still going to make your ass burn extra hot tonight."
"Why?” Steve said involuntarily. When Michael had moved in, taking their relationship to the next level, Steve had tentatively suggested some form of discipline to keep him in check—because he could be an asshole and he knew it—and Michael had turned him down flat, saying, “I could deal with you being a prick that way, I guess, but why spoil the fun for both of us? I like spanking you; you like being spanked; I don't want to do it as a punishment and what we do isn't something that goes well with being angry. No. Forget it. If either of us screws up, we'll do what everyone else does: talk or fight it out and have make-up sex."
Michael gave him a narrow-eyed look. “'Power-mad pigs in uniform'? ‘Arrogant assholes in blue?’ Am I ringing any bells? You don't say shit like that about the people I work with, Steve. Next time—if there has to be one—keep it about just me and we'll be fine, but you're getting a little extra on behalf of the cops you insulted and that's not punishment, it's a lesson in good manners and gratitude."
Recognizing the signs of Michael about to launch into a lecture about how unappreciated cops were, Steve tried to think of a diversion. It wasn't that he didn't agree that he'd been way out of line with what he'd said and done, but this just wasn't the time, dammit.
He made a placating sound, more of a whimper, really, and risked a kiss on Michael's inner thigh, where the skin was smooth and warm. Michael stopped talking and breathed in sharply.
"Steve..."
"I agree with you. All of it. I'm an asshole and I'll—when you're at my limit, when it's starting to hurt and not in a good way ... give me however many extra you think I deserve and I'll take it. My decision. I trust you not to be harsh; you let me apologize at the top of my lungs."
"You won't be yelling by then,” Michael told him, his calm certainty sending a pleasant shiver down Steve's spine. “Words? Actual, comprehensible words? Please. You lose them five minutes in."
"So true,” Steve agreed and nuzzled into the damp softness of Michael's balls. They tasted clean, which was good in a way, but he wanted to get past the blandness of soap and water scrubbed skin to Michael's own taste and smell. He licked the base of Michael's cock, hoping to be allowed to do more, and then sighed as Michael tugged at his hair, which Steve deliberately wore long enough to provide a convenient way to position him. He allowed himself to be pulled away and twisted his head, trying, and failing, to kiss Michael's wrist.
"Impatient,” Michael said quietly enough that even as close as they were, Steve could barely hear the word.
"One of us has to be."
"You're trying so hard to make me lose it.” Michael sounded genuinely amused. “When will you figure out that the more you push, the longer I make you wait?"
"Already did,” Steve said between gasps as Michael twisted the hair he held and made Steve's scalp burn and tingle. “When will you figure out that I hate waiting, but really love you making me do it?"
Michael chuckled and eased his grip, his thumb rubbing soothing circles over the tender skin on Steve's head. “I think I knew that, but it's good to get confirmation."
"Of how fucked-up I am?"
"Not that. Ever. You're not.” Michael's fing
er tapped under Steve's chin and brought it up so that Steve had no choice but to meet Michael's eyes. “You're not fucked-up, you're not weird, you're not sick."
That was getting easier to accept with every day he spent with Michael, who had to be the most grounded person on the planet when it came to his kinks. Easier—but not easy; he had to push for more. “Then what am I?"
"Mine.” Michael looked a little surprised that he had to ask. “All mine. Now stop talking and blow me.” His hands cupped Steve's face, his thumbs finding the vulnerable hollows of skin behind Steve's ears and pressing in gently, which sent ripples of heat through him, his nipples hardening as if they'd been rubbed with ice.
He dipped his head and felt Michael's hands slide through his hair and then move away, but he barely noticed, too caught up in the nudge of Michael's cock against his lips. Michael always touched him when Steve was doing this; the hands would be back, gripping Steve's shoulders, guiding his head, holding him still so that his mouth could be fucked, taken, owned, for the time it took for Michael to come with a final surge forward, his fingers digging in.
If Michael was ever rough, it was then and Steve got off on that moment when Michael's control vanished because it wasn't like Michael ever stopped knowing that it was Steve sucking, swallowing, choking. His control might be lost; the connection between them never was.
And having his mouth kissed afterward, Michael's lips traveling over it, his tongue lapping at the chafed corners, biting gently at the swollen lips until they stung, was the perfect way to come down from the high of being used that way.
He lapped at the head of Michael's cock, a fierce, loving assault on it until it yielded the salt-tang of pre-come to flavor the spit filling his mouth, and waited to be touched by knowing, loving hands. What he got instead was the paddle, a cool shock against his back.
He jerked, caught the side of Michael's cock with his teeth, and pulled off long enough to give it an apologetic kiss. The paddle tapped a warning and he went back to what he'd been doing and felt the wood turn gradually warmer as it soaked up his body heat.
Toy Box: Paddles Page 4
