Hard Line

by Sidney Bell

  “I want you inside me,” he confessed. It was still hard to say, but oh, it was so lovely to have Sullivan nodding like it made perfect sense. “While I—while I hurt, I want to, um, give that, I think.”

  Sullivan was quiet for a long moment. “That’s...if you just want to give, we can do it without pain. Or is the pain part of it?”

  The pain made it more, Tobias thought, but he wasn’t entirely sure that made sense, so he said, “It’s part of it.”

  “Gotcha.” Sullivan sounded fine, but something in his expression went slightly rigid. “I can work with that. No problem.”

  “Are you—” Tobias started, uneasy, but Sullivan pressed another small kiss to his throat, making a soothing humming noise, and the moment when Tobias might’ve pushed it slipped away.

  Sullivan eased Tobias back onto his side, and his hand slid between his cheeks so that his wet fingers brushed against the raw skin there. Tobias arched, pain and pleasure rocketing up his spine, and the combination of the two meant he was very tight when Sullivan’s fingers pressed inside, two at once.

  “Oh,” Tobias whispered. Those fingers worked inside him, too much, and he couldn’t breathe. He was so hard. His dick jerked with every thrust of Sullivan’s fingers and that was without any contact against his prostate.

  “Stay still,” Sullivan murmured. “Give me this, Tobias. I want you to feel this for me. Can you do that?”

  Tobias nodded frantically.

  “That’s it. Give it up for me.” Those fingers were moving faster now, demanding and gentle and rough all at once. Tobias squeezed his eyes closed tight and listened to Sullivan’s morning-hoarse words as they crawled inside him. “There you go. I want more, Tobias. Can you give me more?”

  Tobias’s back arched without his permission, his ass shoving back, desperate for it. He was already close, already so close, and he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to come, if that rule had just been a rule for last night or if it was an all-the-time thing, but it never occurred to him to come now and apologize later. He’d hold on. If there was a chance that this was what Sullivan wanted, he would hold on. He would’ve asked, but his jaw was locked tight against coming, especially now that Sullivan had apparently decided that it was time to get Tobias’s prostate in on the act and was jabbing at him there, quick, hard little pulses that hurt so good.

  He could hear himself distantly, making soft, keening noises interspersed with harsh grunts when Sullivan laid into him particularly hard, and he was on fire, everything hurt, and it was so... God, he couldn’t hold on. He had to, he wanted to, but he couldn’t, but he had to.

  He wanted Sullivan inside him so badly. More than fingers. He shifted his leg up, begging with everything he had in him, and behind him Sullivan sucked in a breath.

  “Fuck,” Sullivan muttered, and he bent down, his mouth finding Tobias’s shoulder, his teeth sinking in, the pain almost blinding, Sullivan’s breath fast and hard against the damp, sensitive skin.

  Tobias’s hips couldn’t hold still—he was pulling away from the force of those thrusting fingers, and pushing back into it, and wanting more, always more, he wanted Sullivan’s cock deep inside him, stretching him wider, making the burn brighter. He wanted Sullivan to feel just as good, wanted Sullivan to have everything Tobias was, everything he could give, and if his body could deliver on any part of that, he wanted it.

  Sullivan’s fingers pulled out, and for a heartbeat, a lovely, perfect heartbeat, the head of his cock was there, pressing against Tobias’s rim, far larger and hotter, and even that small contact was far too much, but he pushed back anyway. He made a sound that could only be termed a whine, and maybe he’d be embarrassed about that later, but for right now, he just fucking wanted.

  Then Sullivan was growling, “Goddamn it,” and pulling away. There was a flurry of movement behind him, the shocking, cold sensation of more lube, the tearing sound of a condom wrapper being opened.

  “I want to fuck you,” Sullivan bit out. “It’s going to hurt. Color.”

  “Green,” Tobias moaned, “God, please, do it.”

  And then Sullivan was finally, finally sliding his cock inside him. He sank in completely with that one thrust, an unspoken demand that Tobias’s body yield everything. Even loose and relaxed, Tobias still found it too much, and he cried out in wordless protest instinctively, scrambling away from the intensity of the sensations.

  He was hugely, deeply satisfied when Sullivan didn’t hesitate for a second, using leverage and his weight to keep Tobias where he wanted him, already withdrawing and shoving back in, angling for Tobias’s prostate, and Tobias cried out again. It did hurt, badly enough that he couldn’t lie still, couldn’t stay quiet, but it was also immensely good, contributing to the pleasure, the fullness and weight of Sullivan inside him far more important than the burn. He was on fire, the pain sharp and acute and raw, the pleasure dagger-edged and welling up, impossible to resist, and he couldn’t come, he couldn’t, not until he knew—

  His jaw unlocked. “Please, Sullivan, can I? Please. God, I have—”

  “You—Jesus.” Sullivan sounded startled, and vaguely unhappy for a split second. But the unhappiness was gone when he continued with, “Yes, sweetheart. Go ahead.”

  With a low, throaty cry, Tobias did, only dimly aware of Sullivan making a deep, punched-out noise and following. He slumped on top of Tobias like a lead weight.

  “Jesus,” Sullivan whispered. “Jesus. You’re—Jesus.”

  “No, I’m Tobias,” he said into the pillow. His voice was lazy and thick like he’d been drugged or something, and it was a horrible joke, but Sullivan laughed anyway, because Sullivan was nice. He was soooo nice. He had nice hair and nice arms and Tobias liked the stark black tattoos and the muscles there, and he liked the way Sullivan’s body smelled, especially now, first thing in the morning when he was warm and a little sweaty and recently asleep. Tobias had made a stupid joke and Sullivan had laughed, and this was all so nice that he giggled.

  “You’re nice,” he said.

  “You’re completely high on endorphins, aren’t you?” Sullivan asked.

  “I don’t know,” Tobias said, still giggling. Sullivan pulled out of him and slumped to one side, smiling dozily, all those long muscles lean and graceful. God, he was hot.

  “Yeah, hold on to that as long as you can.”

  “I’m gonna be so sore.” Somehow that was really funny, and Tobias started laughing in earnest. Sullivan was laughing too, like he thought Tobias was being silly, and maybe he was, but he felt so good that laughter was the only thing possible.

  * * *

  Sullivan was fucked. He was so fucked.

  Because Tobias was sweet and eager and he’d instinctively wanted permission to come even though Sullivan hadn’t asked—it hadn’t occurred to him that Tobias might think Sullivan expected it this morning, which was pretty shitty Dom behavior—and there’d been zero self-consciousness in the asking. It was outrageously hot.

  And worst of all, Tobias had laughed afterward.

  He hadn’t shown any sign of feeling tormented or scared or guilty. He wasn’t second-guessing the kind of sex they’d shared. In fact, as Sullivan cleaned Tobias up and smoothed a cooling gel gently over the raw skin between his cheeks, Tobias was nuzzling into the sheets like a damn puppy, warm and happy and spent, halfway back to sleep, and Sullivan wanted to slide down beside him and settle in for a nap.

  Instead, he tucked Tobias in, rubbed his head until he was asleep—which took thirty seconds tops—and went into the bathroom for a shower.

  He had to get a grip. This was a mess, and he had to figure out what the hell was going on so he could institute some kind of control over the situation. Logic. That was what he needed.

  Okay, so he was clearly ready for sex with other adult humans at this point. Fine. Sex was good and healthy. He should have more of it. No reason it had
to be Tobias, right?

  But as he forced himself to consider finding another sub, his stomach flipped over in distaste. The idea of getting formally back into the scene didn’t appeal at all. Some people in kink got off on the feeling of the dark and taboo; Sullivan wasn’t one of them. No, what Sullivan wanted was sex and kink with someone that felt good. Nothing dark or twisted, no leather or emo music or filthy porn or leather clubs or munches run like city hall meetings. No choosing a partner based on how many similar boxes they’d ticked on a kink checklist. Just this—a playful, naturally occurring connection to another person that made Sullivan feel like a decent, normal human being who could be wanted and trusted.

  Maybe it made him stupid that he was having fun with a guy who’d threatened his job and his future, but he was. It reminded him of what he’d had with Nick before the whole thing fell apart. Friendship. As important, if not more important, than the infatuated rush of love and passion that’d eventually overtaken it. Their friendship hadn’t survived Sullivan’s sexual preferences, but with Tobias, the two elements seemed almost to amplify each other. Maybe they weren’t exactly friends, but it was in there. It wasn’t casual and it wasn’t just sex, because if it was either of those things, picking someone else wouldn’t be such a problem.

  Shit. He liked Tobias. He really liked Tobias.

  Don’t think like that, he told himself as he dried off with sharp, punishing flicks of his towel. He had to remember that Tobias was experimenting and he wanted casual sex and his life was in a period of upheaval and this case was temporary and Sullivan needed a goddamn hormone condom.

  By the time Tobias came downstairs into the kitchen, his brown curls still damp against his temples from his shower, Sullivan had managed some semblance of emotional maturity.

  “Hey,” Tobias said. His shoulders were tense, his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Um. Sorry.”

  Sullivan looked at him blankly. “For what?”

  “I fell back asleep?”

  “Oh. Nah, forget it.” Sullivan finished stirring the bowl of pancake batter he was working on. “Was gonna wake you up in a minute anyway to eat. Sit down.”

  Tobias’s body jerked in the direction of the table before he hesitated, and Sullivan realized they hadn’t had that particular talk yet.

  “You’re not my slave.” Sullivan wiped up a spill with a paper towel. “When we’re fucking, that’s one thing, but what we do in the bedroom doesn’t have to match what we do outside of it. The rest of the time, I’d really prefer that you tell me to fuck off if you don’t want to do what I say. Does that work for you?”

  Tobias nodded, and went to the table. “How do you navigate all this? It seems so much more complicated than other sorts of relationships. Even casual ones.”

  “We’re navigating it right now.” Sullivan poured batter onto the griddle and forced himself to hear casual with more emphasis than any of the other words. “Just like anything else that people do, it’s a series of small decisions, you know? People in the kink community learn to be more explicit about it, that’s all. We talk shit to death. It’s exhausting sometimes, but it’s nice to know where you stand and get what you need.”

  As they ate, Sullivan checked his email, where he found a reply from his contact at the DMV. He’d submitted all three plate numbers—anticipating that two of them would be wrong because of the mud that’d partially obstructed their view—and the results were gratifyingly helpful. One was unassigned, one belonged to a hearse in Pueblo, and the other belonged to a beige sedan registered to Cindy Jackman, the owner of a home on Josephine Street in Denver.

  Sullivan passed the news along to Tobias.

  “The guy picked up Ghost in his wife’s car?” Tobias asked, nose wrinkling in a way that Sullivan firmly told himself was not adorable.

  “Could be a sister or a friend.” Sullivan jerked a shoulder. “I’ll check her out, see if I can learn anything about the balding guy, and then I’ll track him down. I’ll give you a progress report—”

  Tobias sighed, long-suffering, and Sullivan almost smiled before reminding himself that he needed a hormone condom.

  “Let me guess.” Sullivan raised an eyebrow. “You’re coming with me.”

  “Yes.”

  “And school?”

  Tobias blinked, once, twice, three times.

  “Forgot about that little detail, huh?” Sullivan finished his pancakes while Tobias stared at his plate, apparently doing some sort of mental gymnastics, judging from the way his mouth had pursed and his brow had furrowed. Finally, Sullivan prompted, “Well? What’s the verdict?”

  “I’m not going to class.”

  “Okay. We’ll get through this stuff today, and you’ll have plenty of time for homework later. I don’t know, maybe they’ll give you a makeup or something—”

  “No, I mean I’m not going back. Ever.”

  Sullivan took another bite of pancake. “Cool.”

  Tobias slowly lifted his gaze, and his eyes were wide, almost stunned, and his cheeks were flushed. His fingers clamped around his fork. “I’m never going back.”

  Sullivan chewed, watching him, and Tobias’s chin lifted mutinously, as if he thought Sullivan might try to make him go, which was stupid, because Sullivan generally thought that doing things you hated was a bad idea in principle, let alone in practice. When it became clear that Tobias was waiting for an answer, Sullivan swallowed and said, “Congratulations. You’re a wild man.”

  “I’m not, really,” Tobias said, more to himself than Sullivan, perhaps. “I don’t do impractical things.”

  “Sure,” Sullivan said, although he thought that was mostly bullshit, considering the things Tobias had been doing the past few days, and that was only the things Sullivan knew about.

  “I think I could, though,” Tobias continued, still probably to himself.

  “Cool. Can I have your textbooks?”

  Tobias glanced at him. “You’re not going to argue with me?”

  “I’m not your mom. Do whatever the fuck you want.”

  “You’re bossy enough,” Tobias muttered and Sullivan grinned. “But you don’t think it’s bad? Dropping out?”

  “I’d be an asshole if I did. You’re looking at one and a half semesters of college right here, baby.”

  “Oh.” Tobias’s face made a cramped, half-smothered expression, and Sullivan’s grin widened.

  “You’re judging me, aren’t you?”

  “No,” Tobias said quickly.

  “Yes, you are. You think I’m one of those guys who partied my way out of school.”

  “No, I don’t,” Tobias said, earnest enough that Sullivan believed him. “I just think it’s odd because you’re clearly well-read and interested in learning. College seems like a natural choice for you.”

  “I thought so too, which is why I tried it. But college wanted me to pick one thing to learn about and then take a bunch of tests, and I’m more of an eclectic, non-test-taking sort. So. We broke up. And if you consider the hell I put my professors through with all my off-topic questions, it was probably mutual.”

  “Oh. I thought maybe it was a money thing.”

  “Well, my parents weren’t going to manage six college funds on their salaries, so it didn’t help. I don’t know. Might’ve given it a better try if I hadn’t been fighting so hard to pay for things, but it seemed stupid to put that much cash and effort into getting something I wasn’t sure I wanted.”

  Tobias chewed on his lip, a slight pinch to his features.

  Sullivan said, “Not much point in you feeling guilty for having access to an education I turned down, you know.”

  “I’m paying for most of it on my own,” Tobias said. “My parents matched me my first couple of years so I wouldn’t drain my savings, but yeah, I know how expensive it is. Everyone should have access to education. Everyone.”
/>   “Says the newly dropped out.”

  Tobias’s lips quirked into a small, dawning smile. “It’s a sign of how out of my head I am that I like the sound of that. I think education’s important, but...”

  Sullivan studied him thoughtfully as Tobias considered his words. He wasn’t sure how he felt about Tobias’s description of himself: out of my head. Tobias could be in sub-drop. Endorphins and adrenaline were magical things—they got people through marathons and rescuing babies from tigers and...well, nothing else was springing to mind, but the point was that sex in the scene could produce a lot of the same chemical changes in the blood and brain that dangerous or physically taxing activities could, and eventually, when those chemicals were filtered out, a person’s emotional state could drop into the toilet until things settled. Aftercare was crucial post-scene to help with that, because in addition to feeling shitty, occasionally drop ended with people doing wacky things.

  Sullivan could’ve kicked himself. He should’ve stayed in bed and cuddled, been there to reassure Tobias that everything was fine. Or maybe not, since cuddling wasn’t casual and he needed a hormone condom, but at the very least he could’ve gotten the guy a glass of water and told him that he’d done everything right.

  Maybe this wasn’t about school at all. Maybe this was a sign of bad treatment from—

  “I hate medicine,” Tobias blurted, jolting Sullivan out of his thoughts. “I’ve hated it for years.”

  “Sounds like you’re making a good choice, then.” Sullivan let out a slow breath. Not chemical.

  “I’ve never admitted it. It’s been getting worse. It’s worse than it was in high school, and I thought that was the low point, and I never said anything.”