Testing Lysander

by L. M. Somerton

  Brock was pleased with how his efforts had come out. The images he’d captured during the climb he and Kyle made were particularly good and totally unique.

  “My editor is going to give me a big, shiny gold star for these,” he muttered. “At least something good came out of the trip. Fuck, I sound bitter.” He scrubbed his hands through his hair and rocked back in his seat. “You changed me, Kyle…” With a decisive stab at the keyboard, he brought up the half-dozen images of his lover. He sighed as his heart did a few back-flips and his cock jerked to life. He slipped his fingers beneath the waistband of his jeans and flicked open the button. The zip lowered all by itself as his swelling dick fought for freedom.

  “No! I don’t want this.” Even as he said the words, Brock pushed his hand into his underwear and encircled his heated dick with trembling fingers. “Oh fuck…” It took only a few tugs and Brock came with a hot spurt into his palm. “Damn you to hell, Kyle!” He shoved his chair back and made a quick trip to the bathroom but the lure of the pictures pulled him back. He enlarged his favorite image, which showed Kyle kneeling in the communal tent at base camp, a map spread in front of him, pointing out some feature or another. Brock couldn’t remember what they’d been talking about—probably the route they needed to take. He blinked and squinted at the picture. Something didn’t seem quite right. He enlarged it as far as he could before it became too pixelated and examined it again.

  “What the hell…?”

  The map had the British Ordnance Survey symbol in the corner. Brock practically pressed his nose to the screen in an attempt to get a better look.

  “Dorset. It’s a village in Dorset.” Outside of the village, Kyle’s blurry finger rested next to a remote property. With his photographer’s eye, Brock examined the picture. An expert had altered it. The original map had been replaced seamlessly with the new one.

  Brock grinned—he couldn’t help himself. “Looks like I’m going on a road trip.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Like a child the night before Christmas, Brock could barely contain his excitement. A warm glow of anticipation enveloped him at the thought of seeing Kyle again. It was too late to set off on the long drive to Dorset that night and Brock had a few things he needed to do before he could leave his parents’ house and make the trip. He spent the rest of the afternoon and evening writing notations against each of his pictures and making the final decisions about which ones to submit to his editor. The pictures of the olinguito he sent in with a separate proposal. As National Geographic had funded the trip, they would get first refusal on the images and Brock was sure they would want them. The baby olinguito was beyond cute and the rarity of the images made them a sure thing for an article.

  Apart from one short interruption when his mum called to check that he’d been to his appointment, he just kept going. The discipline of the task kept him at least halfway calm because it demanded attention to detail and it was past midnight by the time he finally pressed send on the email. His stomach made a loud growl of complaint and Brock realized that he had forgotten to eat. He’d had nothing since the half a sandwich at lunchtime. Even his slice of chocolate cake stood untouched on its plate. He stood and stretched, easing the kinks in his back.

  “Better take some more of those pills the doctor gave me,” he muttered as a twinge of pain shot through his shoulder. He jogged down to the kitchen, switching on lights as he went. “Now, what to eat…” He opened a can of chicken soup and dumped it into a pan then sawed a couple of slices from the loaf on the table. “Soup and toast will do.” He made a mug of tea and ate his meal.

  Too excited for sleep, he cleaned up, then went to his room to pack a weekend bag. He spent an age deciding what to pack and resorted to his usual favorites. “What the hell. Hopefully I won’t be needing clothes.” Eventually, he switched off the lights, stripped down and got beneath the covers. He lay there with his eyes open staring at an industrious spider spinning a web on the light fitting. He felt nervous and unsettled, excited but wary of raising his hopes too much. He was making a lot of assumptions about who or what would be waiting for him in Dorset, but he couldn’t accept the possibility that Kyle would not be there. He has to be. He will be.

  * * * *

  Brock barely slept. He tossed and turned through the hours of darkness and only slipped into sleep as the gray light of dawn filtered through a crack in the curtains. As a result he awoke feeling groggy, with a dull ache seated at his temples. He dragged himself to the bathroom, clicked the light on above the mirror and gave his reflection a critical appraisal.

  “Oh God. What a state.” Never one to be that bothered about his appearance, it had been a while since Brock had more than glanced in the mirror through necessity. Now he wanted to know what Kyle would see. His cheekbones seemed sharper where he’d lost a little weight during his hospital stay. His blond hair was slightly longer and more unruly, dropping in scruffy waves to his collar. His eyes were the same startling shade of blue, but ringed by dark circles.

  “You could pack for a week in those bags,” Brock complained, prodding at his face in irritation. He shaved, then took a long, hot shower. He tried to keep his mind blank but thoughts of Kyle kept infiltrating, sneaking round the corners of his psyche and poking his libido. “Even when I’m not with him, he’s still in charge.” Brock sighed heavily. He liked that idea far too much.

  As he dressed, he told himself it was for comfort on the long drive but he chose a dark blue shirt that made his eyes and light hair stand out even more than usual. His jeans had a couple of strategically placed rips across the knee and thigh—less to do with design than several scrambles across rocks and through bramble-infested woods. The soft denim hugged his thighs but not quite so closely as before his journey to South America. He found a dark brown leather belt and slipped it through the loops around a waistband that sat on his hips.

  Brock ate a light breakfast of fruit and cereal, drank a mug of coffee and made up a travel cup to take with him in the car. He put his bag in the Mini and closed up the house, switching off appliances and emptying the bins. There was nothing left to do. No more reason to delay. He recognized his reticence to leave for the fear it was, accepted it and got into the car, setting the satnav by grid reference. He pulled away with a knot in his stomach and a flutter of hope in his heart.

  Setting off a little later in the morning meant that Brock managed to avoid the worst of the rush-hour traffic. He made smooth progress through the motorway network toward the south and by lunchtime was already heading across Wiltshire. He stopped not far from Stonehenge for a sandwich at a roadside café, but didn’t delay and within the hour, crossed the border into Dorset. Less certain about the route, he kept an eye on the satnav as it directed him down roads that soon narrowed to lanes. He was still some way from the south coast and the busy tourist spots, though the direction of travel did take him close to the Cerne Abbas Giant. The enormous chalk carving in the side of a hill tempted him to stop and take a couple of pictures, but witnessing the chalk man’s huge, erect dick just made him think of Kyle, so he got straight back on the road.

  He reached the edge of a small village called Crossways shortly after three-thirty in the afternoon, putting him less than a mile from his destination. On any other day, the clear sunlight and picture-postcard thatched cottages would have drawn his attention and his lens, but with his journey almost done, Brock was blind to the pretty scenery. He drove down a long lane, woods to both sides, then turned into a track that emerged from the trees into open fields. In the distance he could see an isolated cottage and some outbuildings clustered together in a little huddle. At one time it must have been a farm but there was no signage to indicate that it still had that purpose.

  On the final approach, Brock’s nerves returned with a vengeance. His surroundings seemed strangely familiar and he had a nagging sense of déjà vu. As he parked in front of the honey-colored stone cottage, he realized that he had been there before, but the first time he’d
been blindfolded and the second time he’d been asleep after a night scrambling around Salisbury Plain.

  Brock turned off the ignition then gripped the steering wheel with both hands. He squeezed the leather-wrapped wood until his knuckles bleached white. For a split second he contemplated turning around and going home, but the thought dissipated as quickly as it arrived in his head.

  “Get out of the car, you idiot. This is getting you nowhere.” He pushed open the door, climbed out and shut it behind him. He wondered if Kyle had heard him arrive. Was he watching from a window? Brock decided to leave his bag in the car, not wanting to presume that he would be invited to stay. He pushed the gate open with a trembling hand and walked down the path. When he closed his eyes, the sensations that he’d felt when he made the same walk blindfolded rushed over him. The leaves of a huge copper beech standing not far from the house rustled and he remembered that sound with absolute clarity. Brock shook his head to clear it, then knocked tentatively at the front door. He moved away, not daring to look. He sensed rather than heard the door opening and gasped as a hand grasped his shoulder and spun him around.

  “You came. I’m glad.” The familiar deep, silky voice made Brock quiver. His mouth was too dry to attempt a response but Kyle didn’t wait for him to speak. He cupped Brock’s face with both hands and pulled him forward for a kiss that left Brock gasping for air.

  The moment Kyle felt Brock’s smooth skin beneath his fingertips, he knew he’d done the right thing. He also knew that he’d waited far too long to bring his beautiful lover to him. Weeks of agonizing about what was right faded away as he pushed his fingers through Brock’s silky, golden hair and felt the softness of his lips. Brock opened to him without hesitation, melting into Kyle’s embrace, but he trembled and his stunning blue eyes were shiny with unshed tears.

  “I’ve got you.” Kyle stroked Brock’s hair and held him close. “You’re where you should have been all along—with me.”

  “I…don’t understand.”

  Brock sounded so uncertain, so scared. All Kyle’s protective instincts surged to the surface.

  “There’s nothing to worry about, love. Let me take care of you.” Kyle pulled Brock into the hall, kicked the door shut behind them and pushed Brock against the wall, claiming his mouth again with ferocity. He wound his fingers into Brock’s hair and pulled him deeper into the kiss. He wanted Brock’s lips to be puffy and bruised, his cheeks pink with stubble burn. He wanted him to look owned.

  “You taste amazing.”

  “I…”

  “No. Don’t speak. Just do as I say.” Kyle tugged Brock toward the stairs. “Up. Now.”

  “You can’t…” Brock’s protest was half-hearted at most.

  “I can. Speak again and I’ll gag you.” Kyle kept his voice quiet but firm. He slid his hand downward and cupped Brock’s dick through his jeans, testing his response. He was rock hard and started to grind against Kyle, seeking friction. Kyle chuckled. “Still a wanton brat.”

  Kyle pushed Brock up the stairs to the master bedroom and paused to watch his reaction. Gentle lamplight illuminated the bed, which was clothed in deep blue silk. Kyle had deliberately created a beautiful setting but the silver chains attached to the headboard, cuffs resting on one of the plump pillows, were what gripped Brock’s attention. Brock’s eyes widened and he worried at his lower lip. Kyle didn’t give him any time to think.

  “Take your clothes off. I want to see your skin and that beautiful hair against the blue.”

  Brock’s inner debate was clear on his face. He didn’t know whether to object or run and Kyle loved watching the emotions play out as Brock’s brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed.

  “Your body is demanding you stay—your head is most likely fighting the urge with arguments about respect and equality.” Kyle reached forward and stroked Brock’s hair, which always seemed to calm him. “Stop fighting it, Brock. I know you want this. You just have to let go.”

  Brock’s eyes glistened, but he didn’t argue. He ducked his head and began to unbutton his shirt.

  “You chose the perfect color. That blue suits you.” Kyle let Brock struggle through the process with uncoordinated fingers and cute huffs of frustration. Brock eventually shrugged the shirt from his shoulders and dropped it to the floor. Kyle let his gaze wander across every inch of Brock’s perfect golden skin. The faint yellowing of bruises that had almost healed stood out starkly to Kyle’s critical eye. Those marks were his fault. He accepted responsibility for every single one.

  “You’ve lost a little weight.” It was an observation, not a criticism. Something else that Kyle added to the list of things he needed to atone for. Brock hadn’t lost any of his muscle tone, his abs were still defined, his chest firm. Kyle licked his lips. He brushed a hand across Brock’s dark nipples, confirming that they had hardened into tight nubs. Brock moaned softly.

  Kyle took a step back. “Now the rest of your clothes, please.”

  Hands a little steadier, Brock undid his belt buckle and released the studs fastening his fly. He kicked off his shoes and slid soft denim down his legs and over bare feet. As Brock’s body was revealed, Kyle drew a sharp intake of breath. His iron cock pressed against his zipper, so hard it was painful. How he had denied himself Brock’s body for so long he would never know. Brock’s cheeks were flushed a delicate shade of pink. Kyle lowered his gaze from Brock’s face to his groin. Brock had chosen to wear gauzy trunks that seemed to reveal everything and nothing at the same time. The black fabric molded to his body and his dick seemed to be doing its best to pierce the delicate weave. Kyle couldn’t resist. He invaded Brock’s personal space, slid his hands beneath the waistband of Brock’s shorts and cupped his firm ass. He agitated smooth skin, feeling soft, downy hairs and clenching muscle. He grazed the top of Brock’s crack and enjoyed the resulting whimper. Slowly he withdrew and stood back.

  “I want you to take them off.”

  The conflict playing across Brock’s beautiful features was plain to see and Kyle loved every moment of his resistance. He allowed himself a small smile of triumph as Brock slid the trunks off. He tried to cover himself with his hands but his erection denied him any modesty at all.

  “It’s like the first time together all over again, isn’t it? You feel vulnerable… Insecure. We’ll talk, I promise—but not now, not yet. Now I’m in control. No doubts, no worries… I want to show you how it can be between us. We can’t talk until the barriers are broken down.”

  Brock’s vulnerability turned Kyle on in a way he found difficult to describe. They’d made love before, but this felt so different. He stood on the edge of a precipice, peeking over, preparing to jump and wondering if the parachute would open. The thrill of it had his cock jerking with excitement.

  Kyle pushed Brock’s arms behind his back and circled his wrists with one hand, pinning him in place. Maintaining eye contact, he used his free hand to cradle and squeeze Brock’s balls. He nudged Brock’s legs a little farther apart. He ran a finger the length of Brock’s rigid dick.

  “So hard. So needy.” Kyle caught the drop of pre-cum pooled in Brock’s slit on a fingertip. Slowly. He brought the finger to his lips and sucked it clean. Brock moaned and tried to jerk against him. Kyle tightened his grip on his lover’s wrists, squeezing to the point of pain. “I make the decisions, love. Behave yourself.” Brock pouted and Kyle caught the word ‘adorable’ flitting through his mind. I’m lost. Completely and utterly lost. This beautiful man has the rest of my life in his hands and he doesn’t even know it.

  Kyle released Brock’s wrists and pushed him gently back onto the bed. Brock wriggled up the mattress until his head rested on a pillow. He looked every bit as beautiful as Kyle knew he would against the midnight blue of the sheets. Bathed in the soft light of the lamps, his skin glowed. Light blond waves fanned across the pillow and his eyes glittered like sapphires.

  “How did I get so lucky?” Kyle muttered to himself as he stripped his clothes off. He stood at the foot of the b
ed and stared down at his prize. What if this is the last time? What if I never have this again? He pushed the thought away and Brock’s legs apart until they were spread wide, knowing that it would make Brock feel even more exposed. Brock’s eyelashes fluttered gold against his cheeks. He’s nervous. Perfect.

  One of Brock’s hands strayed toward his cock.

  “No,” Kyle snapped. “Hands by your sides.” The pout returned, along with a belligerent scowl. “Is my baby about to have a tantrum?”

  Brock glared at him, lips slightly parted, the tip of his tongue just visible between them. “I—”

  “No! No speaking until I’m done with you. No arguing. No complaining. No begging… Though I do enjoy that. Consider it my sacrifice.” For a moment, Kyle thought that Brock might protest, but his inner submissive wouldn’t allow it. He relaxed back onto the pillows as if Kyle’s words had released all the tension from his body.

  Kyle crawled onto the bed, kneeling between the V of Brock’s legs. He ducked his head and ran his tongue the full length of Brock’s cock from root to tip, then reversed direction and tasted his way down until he could tongue Brock’s balls. Kyle could feel the heat in the tight orbs as he savored the salty taste of smooth skin. Brock had so little body hair that Kyle felt as if he was running his tongue across velvet. He took Brock’s firm sac into his mouth and sucked, pausing to press lightly with his teeth. Brock made the most delightful little noises of pleasure and frustration. He kneaded the sheets with clenching fists and Kyle was impressed that he managed to resist the urge to thrust. Kyle pulled off and ignored the low moans of protest.

  Mine. All mine. He wondered if his possessiveness reflected in his expression as he looked down on Brock. I hope so. I want him to understand that he belongs to me.

  “Do you think you can trust me, Brock?” Without waiting for an answer, Kyle pulled Brock’s arms above his head and fastened the silver cuffs around his wrists. “Christ, you look stunning.” Kyle found to his astonishment that he was the one trembling now. He waited in an agony of indecision. Should he keep going? Should he wait for some kind of indication from Brock that he was okay with the way things were going?