by Joey W. Hill
How did he do that? He made Chris feel naked with those searing hazel eyes, as if they'd already peeled off his clothes and the top layer of skin, exposing everything beneath. Was that a Dom thing? And what did it say about Chris, that it disturbed him as it did, giving him anxiety and a hard-on at once?
As if knowing Chris was teetering, Geoff took a seat on another stool, stretching his long legs out in front of him. "I've watched you build things before," Geoff noted, "But not like this. Your mouth sets in a line when you're concentrating. And you handle everything with such care. You connect to everything you do, whether it's planting or washing dishes, or listening to me or Sam. You don't do anything casually. You're fully in the moment."
His hazel eyes became more vivid, so the gold, green and brown reminded Chris of bright moss on a tree wearing golden fall colors. "It makes me think if I touch you, get inside you, I'll be fully in that moment."
Chris wet his lips and Geoff picked up the water bottle again, extending it with a half smile. Not mocking, just . . . understanding. Chris's fingers slipped off the ledge a little more. When he closed his hand on the bottle and took it, Geoff caught Chris's belt loops, bringing him a step closer with inexorable pressure.
"Do you remember Larry Featherwood?" Geoff asked, taking the bottle and setting it aside when Chris was done. Chris wasn't sure where to put his hands or how to stand, when he was standing between Geoff's splayed knees.
"You can touch me, Chris," Geoff said. "Just don't go for my dick yet, because I want to get this out, and if you touch me like that, I won't."
He was used to Geoff being a master of clever words. Geoff didn't lie, but he often wrapped the truth in clever striped and twisted packaging. Straight honesty put things on a different footing, but it also helped. No games. Chris slid his knuckle along Geoff's chest, traveling between the pectorals, up to his throat, where there was a dusting of wood shavings. He rubbed them off with his thumb while Geoff's multicolored eyes stayed on his face. "Yeah, I remember Larry." He'd gone to the same middle school they had.
"You remember when he got in trouble for drinking at Megan Sower's party? That Monday, he said he'd been grounded and his dad had taken a belt to him. You remember what you told me about that?"
"I said a lot of shit when I was thirteen." Chris was watching his own hand as if it had a life of its own. It moved from Geoff's throat to his shoulder, and then came to a stop as Geoff lifted his hand to wrap his fingers around Chris's wrist, stilling him. Chris's fingers curved into the T-shirt.
"You said you wished you had a dad who cared enough to take a belt to you. Because your mom is so great and made it work as a single parent, you felt guilty as hell right after you said it."
Chris shifted. "Yeah. Kids can be dumb like that."
Geoff shook his head. "No, I got it. And your mom would have gotten it."
"Mom would have taken a belt to me herself if she hadn't figured out worse punishments." The one and only time Chris had lied to her, his conscience had tormented him until he admitted it to her. She'd thanked him for telling her the truth, but she'd told him there was nothing he could ever do that would disappoint her more than him lying to her.
"It not only disrespects me, it tells me you don't trust me to care for you, to know what's best for you." A thousand belt stripes wouldn't have affected him the way that statement had. Nothing was worse than letting her down.
"Momma Bear is the best."
Chris smiled. Geoff had always called his mom that, ever since Geoff had been pulled over for speeding--ninety in a forty-five. Chris had been in the car with him. Geoff's dad had basically brushed it off as teenage hijinks and told Geoff he'd get a lawyer to reduce the charges so he could keep his license. The next day, when Geoff came over to Chris's house, he'd faced something entirely different. Chris had been on the sidelines, wide-eyed, while his mom had torn Geoff a new one. He'd tried to deflect her, give Geoff a break, and she was having none of it.
"See him?" His mother had pointed at Chris while a teenage Geoff stood there white-faced. "That is your very best friend in the whole world. Your brother, in every way that matters. My son. The center of my world. I don't care what kind of I'm immortal, riding on hormones bullshit anyone else uses to excuse a teenager acting like this, it doesn't fly with me. I know your heart, Geoff Tywin. You are smarter and better than this. You will take care of him and yourself, because if I ever lose either one of you to some act of teenage stupidity, I will dig up your bodies and kick the shit out of them in front of God and the whole world. I promise you that. And should you live through that act of stupidity and my son dies, you will wish you'd died and gone to hell rather than having to face me."
Chris could tell Geoff was recalling that same memory, because . . . well, he could usually just follow Geoff's mind the way Geoff could follow his. Maybe that was why he was suddenly uncomfortable again as Geoff rose off of the stool. Reaching out, he slipped the tongue of Chris's belt free and slowly stripped it out of his jeans. He doubled it over, threading the strap between his clasped hands. Then he pinned Chris with a steady, unflinching gaze.
Chris took a step back. Not in retreat, but to establish a perimeter, figure out what was going on. Geoff inclined his head.
"I thought about doing this last night, but here is even better. I want to strap your ass with this, and then I want to be inside you."
The thought should have set off a Forget this shit explosion in him. Instead Chris felt that curious stillness of breath and heart, his hands curling at his sides, his cock suddenly constricted by his fly. He imagined Geoff, his hard hand gripping Chris's shoulder as he held him, as that strap stung and struck.
"Okay." The word echoed in the silent garage. Chris pressed his lips together. "But I want something, too. Tonight, you let me inside of you. I want to make my one-man club membership official."
Geoff lifted a brow. "You're determined to keep this on an even footing."
"Yeah. We covered this last night. I'm not Sam. If you want me to be a male version of her, I can't do that." Never mind that he couldn't take his gaze off that belt. "I don't know where that leaves us."
"Right where we're at." Geoff inclined his head. "You have a deal. Drop your pants to your knees, boy, and bend over the bench. Take a good, hard grip on it."
Chris's forced half chuckle was an attempt to lighten things up, but Geoff didn't smile. He just kept threading the doubled-over belt through his fingers, his gaze fixed on Chris, waiting.
"If I don't?" Chris taunted, though his hand was on the fastener of his jeans and Geoff's attention had flicked to the arousal swelling behind his fly. He could tell himself his reaction was because the belt thing was just a precursor to Geoff and him fucking, but Chris couldn't seem to get the images in his mind past that belt and Geoff's dangerous expression.
"Then I'll make you do it. And the punishment will be worse."
He could scoff at the idea of Geoff making him do anything, but he didn't. Chris slipped the button of the jeans, slid his thumbs in the elastic of his boxers and pushed both off his tense ass, taking the clothes to his knees as instructed. If Geoff weren't acting so serious, if he'd treated it like a game, Chris might have felt foolish and backed away from this. Yet nothing about how Geoff's gaze slid over him, a possessive caress, suggested a game.
Not sure what to say, or how to quantify what he was feeling, Chris turned toward the bench and closed his hands on the top edge, pressing his palms into the cushioning where Sam's body would be resting, bound. He wasn't on the bench himself, just leaning over it, which made him feel less out of control, though he suspected that was self-deception. His cock was a pulsing, taut rod between his thighs.
Geoff moved in, the silence a palpable weight between them. The radio was still on, but it was as distant as a conversation happening in China. Chris tensed as Geoff's palm slid down Chris's back then up, finding his way under his shirt to trail along his spine. His palm flattened, exerting pressure, pushing Chris over
until his hands spread out wider, his chest touching the bench.
"Better," Geoff murmured. "Spread your legs. Shoulder width."
When Geoff used the position to reach between his legs and take a firm grip on his balls, Chris's cock sprang up higher. Geoff leaned over, nudging his hair to the side with his chin, and Chris closed his eyes as the man's lips found his nape.
"That was a pretty ballsy move, coming into my room last night to suck me off when I was on the phone. I'm okay with that, just as long as you're okay with me taking my due for the presumption."
"Didn't hear you complaining at the time," Chris muttered.
Whap!
Chris bit his lip as the belt slapped across his haunches, a lick of fire. Pivoting in a blink, he clamped his hand on Geoff's wrist. He and Geoff held that toe-to-toe position, though Chris was keenly aware his pants were at his knees and his dick out there, all vulnerable and hard. His heart was racing. Geoff zeroed right in on it, putting his palm flat against his chest, leaving the other wrist in Chris's tight hold, the belt dangling over Chris's forearm.
"You can't decide whether you want it or hate it. How about you take a second and work that out?" Geoff's voice was neutral, but his eyes were laser sharp.
A long pause. Then Chris let go of his wrist, one finger at a time. Geoff lifted a questioning brow. Waiting.
Chris turned around and took hold of the bench again. The fire was settling in, a coiled serpent in his belly that said he wanted more. He wanted more than more. He wanted Geoff's ferocity, needed it like a hunger for red meat and a woman's touch. "That the best you got?" he ground out.
Geoff's chuckle was nasty enough to spear need right into Chris's balls. "Just keep talking back. Chest down and keep your ass up. When I'm done, you can answer that question for yourself."
Chris set his jaw and complied, ready for Geoff to whale on him. If he'd done that, Chris could have endured it like a hard football practice, nothing touching him below the surface. But Geoff chose another, far more devastating tactic.
The strap whispered over Chris's tense flesh, a featherlike sensation that had a shiver running up his spine. He could almost feel the heat of Geoff's gaze following it, studying every inch of his back and nervously flexing ass. When Geoff slid a firm, heated palm down the line of Chris's spine and down to cup one buttock, fingers gripping with casual possession, Chris's heart rate went up another octave. "Geoff . . ."
Crack! The blow had him sucking in a breath, swallowing Geoff's name. He could tell himself the loud pop of the strap gave a false sense of how hard it was hitting him, but the sting through his nerve endings called him a liar. He put his head down and tried to breathe, trying to keep his head in a center space where he would stand apart from this. On the third strike, he failed. A churning mix of arousal, nerves and deeper, harder things gripped him, and he was grunting as much from their clamp on his mind as the force of the blows.
Geoff began alternating the strikes from side to side, coming up from beneath so that the impact sang through his perineum and balls. He made a flat crack against both cheeks, so Chris jerked and tightened. Hell, Geoff had him practically dancing, his toes curled tight in his work shoes, his hamstrings strained.
Then, he'd change it up again. A couple of times when Chris was ready for the sting, Geoff ran his hand over the throbbing flesh instead, a caressing, firm touch, teasing Chris's balls. His dick got harder and things higher up got even tighter. He was white-knuckling the edge of the workbench.
"Geoff . . ."
He hadn't bent all the way over when he turned back toward the bench, but Geoff took care of that now. He pushed him down to his chest again, which meant Chris had to adjust his stance, putting his ass farther out there. Geoff clamped his hand on the back of Chris's neck and landed a half dozen blows that went past sting into full burn. Chris snarled, cursed and kept his ass lifted, some part of himself he knew but didn't understand asking for more.
He was shuddering, fucking shuddering. Something in him broke. He needed to push up, he knew he did. He needed to stop Geoff, but Geoff anticipated him. He set the belt aside and dropped to his knees behind Chris. Parting Chris's buttocks, he put his mouth on Chris's rim.
Holy Christ. The sensation was incredible, Geoff's tongue provoking sensitive nerves as it stabbed inward. His hands were locked on Chris's hips, reminding Chris how strong and stubborn Geoff could be. Chris pushed his forehead into his palms, his elbows digging into the workbench when Geoff reached between his legs and took hold of his cock.
"Let go," Geoff demanded, and Chris couldn't do anything other than obey. His hips jerked, humping against the bench as Geoff kept tongue-fucking him and playing around his rim, working his cock in a sure, firm grip. When the climax grabbed him, Chris was sure he shot come halfway across the garage, but that didn't mean anything, not with his mind breaking to pieces like this.
Geoff was still teasing him with his mouth when he came down. "Stop," Chris groaned. "It's too much. Fuck . . . quit."
"Say please."
Really? Was he kidding? Apparently not, because he was going to keep doing that crazy thing with his tongue, and Chris's legs were shaking too much to stop him. "Please. Asshole."
"Yours is a pleasure." Geoff drew back, his thumbs passing over Chris's buttocks, making him feel the soreness of those stripes. He bit the meat of one cheek, hard enough Chris jumped and knew he'd left another mark. He'd never seen Geoff get this intimate at those clubs, using his mouth and his hands how he used them on Chris, on Sam.
Geoff straightened to his feet, leaning over Chris's body, wrapping his arm around Chris's broad chest. "Breathe, big man. Be easy."
He should be embarrassed he was this shaky, because it was only an orgasm, no big deal, but Chris knew it was far more than that. So it helped, having Geoff hold him like this after something like that. When Geoff put his lips on his shoulder, Chris dropped his head down lower. "You need to get off."
"I surely do." Geoff's position had his pelvis pressed firmly against Chris's ass, so he could feel how hard his friend was. A chuckle rose in him, strangled in other emotions.
"Yeah, but not what I meant."
"It's all right." Geoff kissed his sweaty neck, nipped at him again. "Don't think. Just relax. Because now that I'm done beating your ass, I'm going to fuck it. And you're going to take every inch of me."
He drew back, and Chris heard the sound of him opening his jeans, the pause as he lubed up, because he was probably carrying some in his pocket. Just in case.
"You like biting."
"Yeah, I do. I'd leave teeth marks all over you if I could."
Chris dropped his head back into his hands. What had he just done, and why? He thought of when they were kids, daring one another to do Indian burns. A game, the sole point of which had been to see who could take more pain. It had usually been a draw between them.
Now, though, Chris remembered one time when Geoff was rubbing the eraser on Chris's arm. The pain had grown excruciating, but Geoff had been watching him the whole time, so closely. Somewhere along the line, it wasn't about an adolescent need to prove who had the bigger balls. The discomfort had mixed with other things and Chris became so involved in watching Geoff register his reaction that he forgot the pain. It was Geoff who called it to a stop, who realized he needed to stop before he took all the skin off Chris's arm.
"You're trying to hold on to control to prove to yourself you're in charge of both of us," Chris muttered.
"If that's true, you're trying to stop yourself from relinquishing control because you're worried about the consequences of doing so." Geoff bit his shoulder again. "Maybe the truth lies somewhere in between."
He set his hands back on Chris's hips, pushing the head of his cock against his rim, still tingling from having had Geoff's tongue there. Chris groaned, and Geoff answered with a growl in the same octave, a deep-throated sound of possession and sex. Geoff pushed all the way in, Chris's muscles giving way as if they knew who was callin
g the shots here. Then they clamped down on Geoff's dick like they'd never let it go. Wrapping an arm around Chris's chest, Geoff worked his hips against him in a smooth rhythm, though his breath rasped harshly against Chris's back, his other hand flat between his shoulder blades.
"I can't remember the first time . . . I knew . . . I wanted your ass. Seems like all of a sudden, it's always been . . . that way."
Chris understood what he meant. Last night, they'd talked about how Sam had become the bridge they'd needed to cross from friends to lovers. But if it had been that simple, they would have made the leap long ago. Chris wondered if they'd had to reach the point where this element could be part of it, the one that had Chris's ass cheeks smarting, that had him thinking about whether or not Geoff would do it again. And even crazier, would Chris eventually ask for it? Punishment, desire, pain. Surrender, a loss of control.
That give-and-take that Geoff kept pushing was a raw nerve that alternated between retreat and wanting to be stroked. Maybe Sam's deeper embrace of submission had helped open up something similar but different in Chris, allowing him to step across that line now. Was it part of what had drawn him to Geoff for so long? Or was it a bunch of things, and that was just one vital component?
Chris closed his eyes, shuddering hard as Geoff reached climax, his body shoving Chris against the bench, breath hot on his neck, his fingers digging into Chris's chest through the T-shirt he was wearing. They hadn't even taken off their clothes, just pushed what was necessary out of the way.
It was possible to call this simple lust. Animal reaction, no thought involved, the result of the sexual floodgate they'd opened last night. But that idea only left him hollow. Chris's back rounded as he dropped his head even lower, his fingers clinging to the bench as Geoff's release flooded him, as his pelvis smacked Chris's ass and Geoff's thighs worked against him. As he slowed, his breath deep, erratic, Chris had to keep his hands clamped on the bench so he didn't betray his need or confusion by grabbing on to Geoff's forearm across his chest, refusing to let him draw back.
Another part of him wanted to turn and put him on the ground, pin him there with his weight until he could make sense of this, why things that had felt right a breath ago suddenly felt wrong. But he didn't. For one thing, they had sawdust all of the floor. Since Geoff's cock was slick with lube, he'd end up having that stuff stuck all over him and be eminently pissed about it.
