Gabriel untucked the dress shirt from the overpriced trousers and skimmed his thumbs around the waistband. He didn’t give two shits about what Imogen had decided. Aled was unhappy, and it was Gabriel’s job to make it better. And a fast, easy solution—a quick plaster over the wound to stem the bleeding—was to rile him up. Get him hard then get him off. Gabriel slid the buckle free and followed it to the floor, nuzzling the front of Aled’s silk boxers before pulling them down and taking Aled’s soft cock into his mouth.
Above him, Aled groaned…then kept talking.
Gabriel had mixed feelings about sucking cock. They didn’t exactly taste like ice cream, and he was usually skullfucked by his preferred partners rather than given the time and space to actually suck anything, so it was unfamiliar territory. On the other hand, he had a submissive streak a mile wide, and a kinky streak a mile wider than that, and there was always a thrill to being used and pseudo-abused—so the prospect of getting Aled off and getting nothing in return was strangely appealing, even if he wasn’t going to get drilled like he usually was.
He worked at the head until Aled was half-hard, then drank him in like water in large, messy gulps until he could feel the pre-cum against the back of his mouth. Half-hard became rock solid in a matter of seconds as he massaged the shaft with his tongue. A gentle hum was all it took to interrupt the flow of Aled’s words, then a hand tugged on his hair.
Gabriel looked up and instantly got wet.
Aled was frowning down at him. Still in his dress shirt. Mouth a grim slash in a stern face.
Dominant.
“And to top it off,” Aled said slowly, “I get home and tell my slut of a partner that I’m not in the mood for a blow job, and he thinks he can get away with one anyway?”
Gabriel opened his throat as Aled pushed. He was well-practised. Trained, even. Deepthroating came effortlessly, but he clenched his hands over his knees as the airless seconds ticked by. They didn’t do breathplay. He’d let Aled block his air for a moment or two, then he’d flash him a fist. A silent safeword.
In a moment…
He didn’t dare look away.
“When I let go,” Aled whispered, “you’re going to bend over the table, drop your jeans and stay silent.”
Silent?
Aled let go. Gabriel gulped air for a moment, getting his bearings, before sinking back into the obedient headspace. And he needed to be obedient when Aled was in a mood, or it would hurt more than Gabriel was really after right before a long car journey.
Aled did offer a hand to haul Gabriel to his feet, then lent both to smash him down onto the kitchen table. Jeans were yanked down. A sharp smack was a brief punishment for the lack of underwear. The kitchen was warm, but the air on his skin felt cold.
Then Gabriel got the idea as the soap dispenser squeaked.
“Oh my God. No-no-no—”
“No isn’t your safeword.”
His head was ground down against the wood. Hair strained. Gabriel sucked in a lungful of air, mind racing. He wanted to obey, wanted to do whatever Aled needed to feel better, but self-preservation was kicking in, too. It had been weeks since—since—
“Yellow!”
The hand in his hair eased. The tip of Aled’s cock stayed perfectly still against his arse. Yellow was the warning light. Not quite stop, not quite no, but a pause, a maybe. If Gabriel had said red, it would have ended everything. And he didn’t want to end everything, but—
“Front,” he said. “Please. It’ll hurt. And not the good kind of hurt.”
He didn’t much like anal sex at the best of times. It didn’t get him off sexually, and while being used like a filthy whore was amazing, why bother getting that via the back door when he could get the same feeling in the front plus an orgasm? And up the arse, almost dry with no preparation, before sitting in a car for several hours was asking too much.
He released the breath as Aled’s cock moved to tap lightly against his vagina, cold soap tingling against the labia.
“Colour.”
“Gree—fuck!”
A cock like steel smashed into him like it owned the place. All at once, he wasn’t a person with a partner and a job and interests and hobbies. He was a thing. A sheath. He was there to wrap his lips—any lips—around whatever dick was nearest. Everything intelligent around his brain shut down in that first thrust. He was a sex toy, a doll, a hole built to milk a dick.
“I said silent.”
The hand that sealed his mouth was hard. It bruised his jaw. For a split second, there were other things—blunt nails, cologne, the table—but then it all became about the cock sawing him in half. Long, powerful thrusts designed to fuck and hurt, and maybe not in that order.
And God, it hurt so good.
It didn’t take long. Aled came in short, sharp bursts of wet heat, and pulled out as soon as it was over. A drawer was dragged open, and metal clinked. Gabriel was roughly turned over and his weak limbs bent until they were locked together under the small table, wrist to wrist and ankle to ankle.
Latex snapped.
“Now how about we try this again, instead of you trying to get out of a civilised conversation by blowing me?”
“Y-yes, siiiir—”
The cold, impersonal feel of rubbery fingers working their way into his drenched cunt was disgustingly hot.
“I was in meetings for near-enough twelve hours today.”
“Tha-that’s—oh fuck—that can’t have been fu-un!”
There were three fingers poking around inside him. Just fumbling around in there, like they were looking for something. There was an orgasm building in the base of his dick, and Gabriel began to squirm to hurry it up.
“I was bored stupid and I’m not even doing anything meaningful with it. We help companies sell pointless products. That’s it. Hardly earth-shattering.”
The soap dispenser squeaked again. Gabriel swore, then fought his way back to the topic at—to the topic. His cunt was the only thing at hand, and he didn’t fancy trying to talk about that too.
“S-sometimes a job’s just a job.”
“Yeah, well, I’m tired of pretending I give a fuck in front of my boss.”
“Maybe it’s time to look else—right there!”
Gabriel liked pressure on his orgasms. Grinding them out. Squeezing every muscle as tight as it would go. And, of course, he couldn’t. Aled’s hand was in the way, and so the aftershocks went straight back to the fuck-ready simmer he’d been nursing before. Aled taunted him by scraping a latex-covered thumb over his cock, dragging him through another climax within seconds of the first.
“Oh God, please—”
“Please what?”
“Let me come properly!”
“You’re coming just fine, you fucking slut,” Aled replied casually. “You just squirted on my best shirt.”
“You know it doesn’t feel the same.”
“I know we’re getting off topic.”
Gabriel whined as that evil thumb began to work its way in to join the rest of the hand, and wrestled his brain back online. He was about to get fisted, and there was no fucking way he’d have the brain cells to carry on a conversation once Aled got his whole hand in there.
“S-so get another job. L-look elsewhere. I can always ask for more—fuck—hours at—at work i-if money is the issue.”
“Could always rent you out,” Aled said casually, even though they both knew it to be a lie. “Make a fortune.”
He curled his hand into a fist, and drove it deeper until the dangerous edge of pain sparked along Gabriel’s nerves and he felt the ticking of Aled’s watch against his skin.
“But then this would be like flinging a sausage down a motorway.”
“S-speaking of motorways, shouldn’t we get going?”
“Too late. Your cocksucking put paid to that,” Aled said. “I’m tired and it’s late. Let me check.”
Gabriel yowled as the hand was dragged back out—thankfully not clenched—and the glove rippe
d off.
“Yes,” Aled said. “At least another hour before I’ll be driving anywhere. I need to wake myself up a bit. So—”
Gabriel whimpered as rubber snapped, and fresher, dryer, less lubricated latex forced his lips apart again.
“—we’ve got all the time in the world.”
The fist drove back up into him until Gabriel was sure his cunt didn’t even go that deep, and he was fucked on it in idle thrusts to make the table shake and the ceiling swim dizzyingly above him. The climaxes followed one another like train carriages, all torturingly weak and delivering nothing like the euphoria Gabriel wanted.
“A-are you feeling better?” he begged.
“Much, thank you.”
“So—so—”
“Is the slut tired?”
The harsh word scraped along Gabriel’s dick, thick as fingers. It was like doing drugs. The whole room was a white abyss—and it was hell.
“Yes.”
“Does the slut want to come properly?”
“Oh God, yes.”
“My hand not good enough?”
Trap.
“Your cock is best.”
Avoided. Aled chuckled, and the fist relaxed. Retreated. Gabriel sagged against the wood, gaping hollow.
“Well, there’s a couple of options here, slut.”
Gabriel hated options.
“You can give me what I wanted the first time, with a nice sharp clip on your cock to help you along—”
A wet finger slid past his cunt and tapped his arse like knocking on a door.
“—or you can get back on the floor and I can fuck the hole in your face to shut you up instead.”
Anal, but the best orgasm of his life from the clip. Or a facefuck and probably nothing? It wasn’t even a contest.
But—
Gabriel lifted his exhausted head and caught Aled’s eye. For a split second, he shoved the game aside and spoke not as his owner’s live-in sex slave but as Aled’s boyfriend.
“Lube. Properly.”
Aled nodded once.
Gabriel dropped his head back and closed his eyes.
“You can always have what you want, sir.”
Later, drifting in a sea of post-orgasmic bliss and rippling like the surface of a still pond with every table-breaking thrust, Gabriel curled his fingers around the chain keeping him prisoner to the ecstasy, and a thought drifted across his scattered mind.
It wasn’t the job.
Not really.
It was Suze.
Chapter Three
It was just after midnight when he heard the car pull up outside.
Swinging his legs off the bed, Chris passed from the lacy bedroom to a barren hall, fresh paint still drying on the walls. Dust sheets covered everything, and the stench of white spirit still lingered around the kitchen archway. When he opened the front door, Noodle skirted in around his legs with a happy chirrup. Aled’s expensive car gleamed at the end of the road, headlights slicing through the dark and a light mist swirling in the beams—then it took off into the night, leaving a shadow by the hedge.
That was—unexpected.
“Is everything okay?” Chris asked as the gate squeaked. “I made up the spare room if he wants to stay.”
Gabriel came to the door alone, rucksack thrown over his shoulder.
“It’s fine. He’s just had a rotten day at work and wants to see his sister sooner rather than later,” Gabriel said, and stretched up for a quick kiss. “Miss me?”
“Always.”
“How you doing?” Gabriel asked as he stepped into the stripped hall.
Chris raked a hand over his bare scalp. “Okay. I think.”
The shock had worn off, at least. Expecting to wake up and hear her singing in the kitchen. Be shouted at for slamming the door. The smell of her favourite potpourri had faded before he could find out what it was and replace it, but it felt like he’d only reopen the wound if he did it now.
“I guess the paperwork came through if you’ve started redecorating?”
“Yeah. All mine.”
Mum had bought the bungalow decades ago. Chris knew every nook and cranny like he knew the back of his own hand. His grandparents had lived with them for a little while when they got too old to look after a house of their own. His earliest memories cast the shadow of his grandfather in the battered armchair in front of the TV. He’d been conceived on the kitchen table, so that had been the first to go. There were photos of him and his brother Tim learning to walk in the kitchen. Tim’s ashes were scattered in the garden with their grandparents—and last week, Mum’s too.
Because the bungalow was now his.
“What are you going to do with it?” Gabriel asked.
Chris swallowed. The lump in his throat had been there for weeks, but at least now it was just a scratchy irritant. The urge to cry had dulled. Life was starting to reorient itself around the void his mother had left behind.
And they hadn’t even been close. He’d never really imagined he’d grieve for her, the stranger who’d been perpetually disappointed by him, but he had. There was a hole were there hadn’t been one before. A silence in the little house that still felt wrong.
“Sell it,” he said.
Gabriel slid an arm around his waist, and said nothing.
“Too many memories to keep it,” Chris added eventually. “So…so I’m doing it up, and selling it on, and then…I don’t know. Buy somewhere else with the money, I guess. I don’t know.”
“I get it.” A hand squeezed his elbow. A kiss brushed his cheek. “You know what sounds nice? Pyjamas and a big thick duvet and falling asleep to one of your action films.”
That did sound good.
“Deal.”
He ducked into the kitchen to feed Noodle and make some tea while Gabriel changed. Chris was awkward around bodies. He liked to cuddle, and even kiss if there wasn’t too much in the way of tongues going on, but anything else made his skin crawl. And Gabriel usually came with evidence of the anything else. Bruises and bite marks and sometimes bits of jewellery or bondage gear. So Chris made the tea, and knocked before going back into his bedroom, and was relieved to see Gabriel already in his baggy T-shirt and boxers, sitting cross-legged on the end of the bed as he fired off messages to someone from his phone.
“Aled?”
“Kevin. Almost missed my check-in. Can you plug my charger in?”
“Sure. Picked a movie?”
“Whatever’s good.”
Chris picked. Gabriel texted. They moved around like it was every night of his life, and Gabriel climbed into his bed—his spot, no less—and held up a corner of the duvet invitingly.
“Get in here.”
“Am I big spoon or little spoon?”
“Big spoon.”
“Mouthful of hair it is.”
“You love it.”
He did. The warmth. The soft weight in his arms. The way Gabriel wriggled into him. The breathing ribs under his elbow. The way he felt the excited squeak and the croon when Noodle jumped up and Gabriel cooed at him.
“Who’s this?”
“Mum’s cat. Noodle.”
“Hello, beautiful.”
Noodle purred and squashed up against Gabriel’s chest for a nap. It left Chris’ hand trapped between a loose breast and a rumbling cat, but with the T-shirt in the way, it didn’t feel bad. He even managed a gentle squeeze, and Gabriel hummed pleasantly.
The empty hole in the house—in Chris’ chest—started to close.
“Thanks for coming,” Chris whispered.
“I’m just sorry I couldn’t come sooner. Or to the funeral.”
“It’s okay. I don’t think I could have coped with your beard outing me in front of my uncles.”
“Dicks?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, least you don’t have to bother with them again.”
“No,” Chris agreed. “Mum left me everything. And they weren’t interested in helping scatter the ashes. Don’t have
to see them ever again if I don’t want. So that’s it. That’s—I have no family left.”
“It’s not so bad,” Gabriel said. “Some families don’t deserve the distinction.”
“Did it still feel weird for you, though?”
Gabriel hummed. “Well, if you told me right now my mother had died, I’d buy a pair of tap shoes and dance on the bitch’s grave. She was the most awful, abusive, violent cow I’ve ever met. Ever. But—it did feel a little funny when my granddad died, so yeah. I didn’t even like him much, but it still felt strange the first time I was due to go over to Pudsey and didn’t.”
Chris dropped both arms to lie around Gabriel’s waist and squeezed. He closed his eyes to drink in the smell of him. Still as familiar as if he always lay here.
“But it’s okay to dump the rest of them,” Gabriel said. “I haven’t seen my uncles since my granddad’s funeral. Or my mother since the accident. Or my brothers and sisters since I was a teenager.”
Chris winced at the mention of the hospital.
“Did she try again?”
“Nope. Haven’t seen anyone in my family since you scared her at the hospital. Never did figure out how she knew I was there.”
Chris smiled into the back of Gabriel’s head. He’d gone up north to stay with them after Gabriel’s car accident, mainly to look after him while Aled was at work. And an accidental but very happy perk had been that he was at the hospital the day that Gabriel’s loathed mother had turned up to try to visit. Chris never thought of himself as a hard man, but he looked hard enough to block the way. And apparently, it had worked even better than he’d thought.
“Do you miss her?”
“My mother?” Gabriel asked. “Like fuck I do.”
Chris hummed. He’d been distant from his mum, and there’d always been a sense that she was quietly ashamed of him, disappointed in him, that he’d never been as good as his brother. But she hadn’t been abusive, either. She had been Mum of the Year compared to Gabriel’s.
“I’m… Does it sound bad if I say I’m just glad it’s over?”
Mum had had cancer. On and off for the last decade. He could hardly remember her with energy or hair. It had been a long, long slide towards the end, and she’d hated every minute of it. Eventually, she’d refused any more treatment—and it had still taken five months for the lump to take her. Chris felt her absence, missed her, mourned her…yet there was a large part of him that wished it hadn’t taken so long and so much suffering.
The Beginning Page 2
