Hard Line

by Sidney Bell

  Not to put too fine a point on it, he’d been terrified.

  “Out of your depth?” Sullivan asked.

  “Completely. I didn’t know how to talk to anyone, and most of them hated me before I ever opened my mouth. You can probably guess why.”

  “My youngest sister was fourteen before she got nice jeans that weren’t hand-me-downs five years out of style. I remember her crying about it she was so happy. Yeah, I can guess why.”

  “I didn’t look down on them, truly,” Tobias said softly. “We weren’t spoiled, growing up, or at least I didn’t think so then. My parents are really careful about that. They don’t want entitled kids. But there are degrees to having and not having, and spoiled or not, I still had more. Within a week of my first letter home, Mirlande had brought me a bunch of clothes she’d gotten from Goodwill, and I gave her my watch to take with her, but it was too late. You can change your clothes, but it’s a lot harder to talk in a way that doesn’t show how much private school you’ve had. They knew I had things they didn’t, and it’s hard not to hate someone who rubs it in your face, even if he doesn’t mean to.”

  “They kicked the shit out of you, huh?” Sullivan asked.

  “A few times. Gibson—this big, skinhead guy—he was the worst. A constant onslaught. If it wasn’t punches, it was words, and looks, and threats, and I’m—” He gave Sullivan a small smile. “You might’ve noticed I’m not very good at fighting. I don’t like hurting people.”

  “And Ghost? He felt sorry for you?”

  “Ghost doesn’t feel sorry for people. He’s not built that way.” Back then Ghost had been skinny and pale and delicate with a loveliness that hinted at innocence. Tobias might’ve believed that lie himself if his first glimpse of Ghost hadn’t been one of the younger boy grinning, his gaze empty and feral, the blade in his hand sparking the reflected light from the caged fluorescents overhead. Ghost hadn’t done much, just hovered in the doorway and told some rambling story about a kid who’d died in a car wreck—nonsense completely unrelated to the spectacle of Tobias lying on his belly in the center of the now-still ring of boys. The long string of words barely made sense, but they didn’t need to, not when they were delivered while that blade played with the light and his voice got lower and throatier and more eager, his body coiling like he might spring at any moment. At some point Gibson had lifted his hands in a calming gesture and said soothingly, “Ghost, hey, hey, we wouldn’t have if you’d just said, man. All you had to do. He’s yours, fuck, have at him. Keep him off my dick, though, yeah?”

  Ghost had fallen silent like a carnival automaton that’d run out of quarters, and the boys had filed uncertainly past him while he stood there staring. By the time Tobias had hauled himself up and cleaned the blood from his teeth and nose, Ghost had been sweet and smiling. He’d started talking about this dog he’d seen get trampled by a police horse, a story that sounded every bit as bogus as the earlier story about the car wreck, and Tobias had followed him around mutely for days listening to the patter, never really taking a deep breath, scared to leave Ghost’s side, but also scared to stay.

  Once you’d seen the facade break down, it was hard to forget what Ghost really was.

  But Ghost hadn’t hurt him. Had, in fact, been surprisingly gentle with him, always receptive to Tobias’s words and thoughts when he finally began offering them, and one day Tobias had realized that instead of being a half-wild prostitute and the guy he’d saved, they might actually be friends.

  The only reference Ghost ever made to that day in the bathroom had been when he got out of Woodbury months later. On his way out of the cottage, knapsack over one shoulder, he’d called back to Tobias, “Stay off Gibson’s dick, won’t you?”

  “I’m honestly not sure why he helped me,” Tobias said now. “Maybe he was curious. Or bored. Or setting up some elaborate plan that I played a role in but which he later abandoned. Who knows? I just...he stopped them and let me stay by him and then I loved him.”

  He almost choked on his tongue trying to backpedal on that one, because he meant it, but he didn’t mean it like that. “As friends, I swear. And that makes it sound like it was less of a bond, but it wasn’t. It was huge to me anyway. Maybe he’s walked out on me, maybe not. But I have to know, and it’s... I can’t wait around and hope he’ll notice I need him anymore. Does that make sense?”

  “He’s your best friend,” Sullivan said, a weary sort of acceptance in his voice.

  “Yeah.” It was the only term for Ghost that Tobias could apply, even if it was too small and too large at the same time. “Did you really think I was a stalker ex-boyfriend?”

  “Not sure. I trust my instincts, and they’re all telling me you’re a pretty run-of-the-mill college kid.”

  “Thanks,” Tobias said, unsure if that was a compliment or not.

  “I’m in a weird spot, though, since my instincts are telling me one thing, and the fact that you’re blackmailing me to play junior private detective tells me something else.”

  “I’m sorry about that. I didn’t know what else to do. I needed... I need this. It’s wrong of me, and selfish, and I know it doesn’t change anything, but I am sorry.”

  Sullivan’s gaze was heavy on his face, almost intimidating, but Tobias sort of liked it. He felt centered. The minute stretched, endless and dense, and then Sullivan was rising, perching on the arm of the overstuffed chair and burying a hand in Tobias’s hair, just as he’d done yesterday, if not as tightly. That hand was directing Tobias closer, tugging him in so that he could bury his face against Sullivan’s side. He smelled like laundry detergent and warm skin, and Tobias wanted to stay there forever.

  “I’m sorry,” Tobias said again.

  “Okay.”

  They sat like that for a considerably long time, until Sullivan’s hand paused in Tobias’s hair and began to pull away. Tobias pressed closer and muttered, “I want you to.”

  “Want me to what?”

  His face flamed hot. “To...whatever you want.”

  After a moment that lasted an eternity—during which Tobias died waiting—Sullivan asked, “You want more of what we did yesterday?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m not sure—”

  Remembering how Sullivan had been forced to take care of him on the couch afterward, Tobias hurriedly added, “You don’t have to put a lot of effort in. We can keep it easy.” He swallowed. “You can do whatever you want.”

  Again, Sullivan’s hand went still. Another interminable hesitation. “All right. There are some things we need to talk about first, though. Do you like the idea of telling me to stop and having me keep going?”

  Tobias blinked, taken aback. “Um, no? I mean, if I say no, I’m probably going to mean it?”

  “Probably?”

  “I’ve never needed to before, so I don’t know.”

  “Let’s have you pick a safe word then, hmm? Just in case.”

  “What kind of word?”

  “Anything you want. We could go with green, yellow, and red. Like stoplights. That’s pretty common. You say yellow and I know to slow down; you say red and everything stops. Or we can pick something else.”

  “No, that sounds good.” If nothing else, he’d remember that in the heat of the moment.

  “What kinds of play do you think you’d be interested in?”

  Tobias pressed his face harder against Sullivan’s side, wishing his cheeks would cool off. “I don’t know.”

  Sullivan’s hand worked gently through his hair. “Did you like being on your knees?”

  Tobias nodded.

  “What did you like about it?”

  “I don’t know. I felt—like I was doing something you’d like. That made it good.”

  “Okay. Did you like it when I fucked your face?”

  Tobias swallowed as a wave of heat went through him, and nodded again.<
br />
  “Like the idea of servicing me? Being used by me?”

  He breathed, “Yes.”

  “What about when I called you sweetheart?”

  Tobias shivered, and Sullivan laughed, low and pleased. “We’ll consider that a keeper, then.” He toyed with Tobias’s shirt collar. “You’re doing well. Beginners sometimes have trouble talking about what they like.”

  Beginners. Tobias wondered what that made Sullivan. “You’ve done this sort of thing before, haven’t you?”

  Sullivan’s hand paused. “Yes.”

  “A lot?”

  “Yes.” There was a tiny hesitation. “Is that a problem?”

  “No,” Tobias replied honestly. “If anything, it’s a relief, I guess. That you know what you’re doing. It’s...everything sounds okay so far.”

  “Okay.” Sullivan’s fingers started tracing through Tobias’s hair again. “You’re all right with ass play? Do you bottom?”

  “Yeah.” That came out breathier than Tobias had meant for it to, but at this point, he wasn’t sure he cared.

  “Mind some teasing?”

  “No, that’s actually—no.”

  “All right. Any questions before we start?”

  “Um, no.”

  Sullivan stood up, tugging on Tobias’s shirt to get him to rise too. “Take your clothes off for me, then.”

  Tobias’s fingers shook as he pulled his shirt off, and it only got worse. He faltered when he got to his boxers, but Sullivan waited expectantly, so he pushed them down and stepped out.

  Sullivan trailed a hand over Tobias’s chest, lingering on the sensitive skin below his belly button. “Nice,” he murmured. “Very nice.”

  “Oh. Um, thanks.”

  Sullivan smiled. “You sound nervous.”

  Tobias blew out a breath. “Yeah, I am.”

  “Good. Stay here.”

  Then Sullivan was gone. Tobias shifted his weight and a terrible sensation of discomfort welled up in him. He felt alone, which—of course he did, he was alone, and that was a silly thing to be made uncomfortable by, even as exposed as he was. Silly or not, though, it was real, and getting stronger by the moment. Seconds went by and turned into a full minute, and by the time Sullivan walked back into the room with a tube of lube and a towel, Tobias was verging on jumping out of his skin.

  “That wasn’t good, huh?” Sullivan studied him. “Don’t like waiting?”

  “It’s the...” He gestured at his whole body, miserable that he’d somehow managed to mess this up already.

  “Hey, no. That’s good. I’m glad we figured it out. It’s a small thing, and now we know that you don’t like being left alone when you’re feeling vulnerable. Won’t happen again.” Sullivan pulled him in so that Tobias’s face ended up buried in his throat, and the feeling began to subside, replaced by warmth and surprise that the mess had been so easily cleaned up.

  “Sometimes things hit us wrong or weird; it doesn’t have to make sense. That’s okay.” Sullivan’s hand rubbed firm and soothing along Tobias’s spine. “For this to work, we have to be able to share this stuff. It’s good. You did good.”

  Tobias nodded. Sullivan didn’t seem to think anything of it, so Tobias decided he wouldn’t either.

  “How are we doing now?” Sullivan asked. “Green? Yellow? Want to put your clothes on and watch TV?”

  Tobias laughed, and something about it made Sullivan’s eyes crinkle like he was happy, which was nice. He liked the idea of making Sullivan happy. “Green.”

  “Cool. Come on over here.” Sullivan threw the towel over one arm of the big, overstuffed chair. “Lie across this on your belly. Feet on the floor, face on the cushion.”

  Tobias hesitated, a million thoughts rioting through his brain. This felt different from yesterday, when he’d been caught up in the current. This was a choice.

  He glanced at Sullivan, taking in anew the narrow, handsome face, the calm, dark eyes, the tattoo sleeves that disappeared under his T-shirt. He waited patiently, like he had countless hours to fill and this was one of a million unimportant ways to fill them. It might feel like a dive into deep water for Tobias, but Sullivan’s body language said this was nothing special. Even if he agreed to do as he was told right now, there was no commitment to it. He could say red at any time, and Sullivan would back off.

  He was pretty sure he believed that.

  With his pulse thundering, he leaned forward over the arm of the chair until his face pressed against the seat. He didn’t quite have to rise onto his toes, but his ass was up in the air, his most private parts on display. He was shaking; he was hard enough that the pressure of his dick against the wide, soft armrest felt amazing. He was tempted to rock against it for friction, but some instinct told him not to, and he was rewarded with an appreciative murmur from Sullivan, his hand sliding along Tobias’s back and sides like he’d never touched anyone worthier.

  “This okay?” Sullivan asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Good. Spread your legs for me.”

  “Jesus,” Tobias whispered, and with heat curling in his stomach at the command—delivered so casually, as if it never occurred to Sullivan that he might be disobeyed—he did as he’d been told.

  “Here’s the deal.” Sullivan sounded easy, like they might be talking about football or fishing. That was equal parts disorienting and reassuring. “You don’t come until I give you permission. It’s okay to say that you need time to calm down, or if you need to say yellow or red—all fine. I’ll never be unhappy with you for any of that. But don’t come. Green?”

  Tobias nodded, his cheek brushing the soft fuzz of the cushion.

  “I want you to respond verbally when I ask for a color.”

  “Green,” Tobias managed.

  There was the sound of a lid opening and closing, and then Sullivan was sliding lube-wet fingers between Tobias’s cheeks. The cold damp made him jump.

  “You’ve done this before, yeah?” Sullivan explored that crease gently, taking his time. His hand left, then returned, wetter than before. “Anal, I mean?”

  “Yes.”

  “Just been fucked? Or toys, too?”

  “Just—just sex.”

  “Did you like it?”

  Tobias was paying more attention to Sullivan’s hand than his words; it wasn’t until Sullivan dug his thumbnail into the sensitive skin of one cheek that he realized he’d let the conversation falter. He gasped, “Sorry, what?”

  “Did you like it? Getting fucked?”

  “Yes. No. I don’t know.”

  Those fingers were clever and quick; one was inside him and gone again almost before he’d felt its presence.

  “You don’t know if you liked it?”

  “I was—um...” Tobias bit his lip on a moan as Sullivan pushed inside him with two fingers this time, the lube plentiful, the sensation of intrusion more powerful than the friction.

  “Try to relax. You were what?”

  “I was always all locked up. In my head.” Tobias would’ve made a gesture toward his temple, but he was a bit occupied holding on to the cushion for dear life. “Thinking too much.”

  “Hmm.” Sullivan prodded deeper with two fingers, thick and implacable, his thumb massaging the rim of Tobias’s asshole, and Tobias made a harsh, embarrassing sound of greed. The nerves in his belly sparked something fierce. “Needed it slower?”

  “No. No, I... I kept thinking there was something I should be doing, but I was never sure what.”

  “Maybe I can help you out with that.” Sullivan’s fingers searched inside him, as careful and delicate as an artist’s or a pianist’s, and a heartbeat later pleasure lit up in a golden, warm throb inside him. It traveled up his spine and through his limbs, leaving him shaking. “What are you supposed to be doing right now, Tobias?”

  “Don’t—not
coming.” Tobias swallowed hard, pressing his face into the cushion, and as Sullivan’s fingers worked inside him again and again, the pleasure stabbing through him over and over, following that order seemed like a far harder task than it had a minute ago.

  “That’s right. Might be easier said than done, hmm? Look at you move. God, you’re a needy little thing, aren’t you?”

  Tobias choked on air, flushed and too hot and humiliated in a way that felt so incredibly good. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to answer. Now that Sullivan had mentioned it, he was aware of the way his hips were rocking, of the way his whole body had gone taut, pressing back into Sullivan’s touch. He tried to hold still, thinking perhaps Sullivan didn’t like that he was...needy, but he couldn’t seem to control it. And besides, Sullivan’s voice was unsteady behind him as he added, “It’s pretty. You look so sweet like this, Tobias. Eager for me. Aching for me. You’d like more, wouldn’t you?”

  “Yes,” Tobias gritted out.

  “Want my cock?”

  Tobias couldn’t even find words for that—he could only groan, his eyes squeezing tight, because he was close, he was so damn close, and he...he couldn’t.

  “Stop,” he cried. “I—I’m gonna, I’m sorry, but—”

  The fingers inside him went still instantly and the pleasure subsided in a slow, painful undertow.

  “I’m sorry,” Tobias muttered.

  “Shh. No, Tobias, you were so good. You did exactly what I told you to do.”

  “I can do better.” He was sure he could. The orgasm had retreated all the way. He could hold on for much longer now.

  “This is exactly what I want. Take some breaths.” Sullivan’s left hand stroked up and down Tobias’s spine, soothing as Tobias obeyed. “Ready?”

  “Yes, I can do it.”