A Place for Cliff

by Talon p. s.

  Still listening both with his ears and his eyes, Pyotr did a little more observational work. Taking in the young man—tall and slender, he could see some muscle tone in his arms, though he couldn’t say about the rest of his body through the loose t-shirt and relaxed-fit jeans. Grey blue eyes like the color of rain clouds moving in. Dirty blonde, choppy hair trimmed short around the neck and ears, the top front of it longer and at the moment flipped up. Either it was meant to be that way, as some youthful hairstyle or the young man spent a lot of nervous moments raking though it and had a tendency to pull it straight up. Whatever the cause it gave him a frumpy bratty/cute look and Pyotr was instantly taking a growing liking to him.

  Around the lad’s neck hung a simple brown heishi necklace with intermittent white shell disks. Nothing special at first glance—the kind you normally found in a beach tourist shop. Only hanging from this one’s center was a charm in the shape of an orange awareness ribbon. The only other jewelry visible was another orange awareness band sharing space with his watch on one wrist. Someone in his life was fighting leukemia.

  ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

  VISIT #2

  Pyotr had given Cliff directions to his home in the district of Astoria for their session this time. Foremost he wanted Cliff out of his office and away from the clinic so as to remove any notion that what they were doing was strictly a doctor/patient arrangement. Rather, they had been brought together to share an experience. There was also a personal matter yet to be confessed; he had found the young man to be irresistible from their first encounter. Pyotr was running late getting there himself and he called ahead to suggest Cliff wait in the park a block over.

  Pyotr found himself looking forward to their visit and when he arrived, he didn’t bother to pull his car into the gated courtyard of his home. Thankful no one was occupying his curb space, so he parked along the sidewalk, briskly walking the single block to reach Astoria Park.

  He found Cliff sitting on a bench under one of the large maples. His arrival went unnoticed so he held back a moment just to watch the young man, to gain some perspective. He leaned up against a tree and just watched. But soon realized there was little to watch, at least of a physical nature, and that in itself lead to a deeper insight on the young man.

  A dog barked down the street and Cliff turned glancing around and spotted Pyotr just a few feet away. His brow furrowed a bit. “How long have you been standing there?”

  Pyotr pushed up from the tree and walked over. “Not long.” He stopped at the bench and looked down at Cliff, enjoying how the sun light breaking through the leaves flickered over his face and in his hair. He was further amused that, well aware of how imposing it could be standing over someone at his height, the young man didn’t flinch a muscle. “It was interesting to watch you though.” Pyotr finally offered.

  Cliff’s brow lines deepened even more with a twisted crinkle in them. “How’s that?”

  “Watching you, I noticed you don’t fidget or shift about impatiently. That’s unusual for most young people.” He pushed his hands into the pockets of his slacks to soften his stance.

  The lines on Cliff’s face faded and the expression grew muted. “I’ve spent a lot of time in waiting rooms. Doctor visits, CT scans, surgeries—they all take time.” Cliff remembered to make it about him, which wasn’t really true. It was always about Kimmi.

  “Do you feel up for a walk?” Pyotr motioned towards the trail path.

  Cliff shrugged silently and without any further prompting got up and started walking. His pace quick like he had some place to go, he soon realized that Pyotr, for all his long legs was taking a much slower stride and he dropped back waiting for the older man to catch up and adjusted his pace to stay at his side.

  They walked in silence for a long while, Pyotr simply waiting for the young man to start up just as he had before. Humorous, he should have expected it, that just like his own ability to wait patiently Cliff apparently was equally capable of doing so quietly. “So you have a sister.” It was more an observation than a question, but also a means to get Cliff talking. He only nodded his confirmation.

  “And she is the one with leukemia?” Again Cliff nodded. “Must be hard, parents always focused on her. You must feel left out sometimes.”

  This time he didn’t nod, “No. They pretty much left us both a long time ago.” He muttered.

  Pyotr came to an abrupt stop catching the young man under his gaze. Twenty-six years of practice, Pyotr had heard them all, every sad story a person could tell and he’d always been able to hide a strong reaction to any of them. But this one floored him. He’d raised every one of his siblings by himself, but there was a damn good reason why he had. But how did a parent walk out on a sick child. He swallowed his admonishment and began to stride again. “How long ago?”

  “Five years. I had just turned 19. I came home after pre op for a marrow transplant for Kimmi and they were gone. Their things, some of the house furnishings and their bank accounts—all closed. Not even a fuckin’ letter.” Cliff growled the last part, “Kimmi didn’t have any time left hospital red-tape policies so someone at the hospital helped out with the court stuff making me Kimmi’s guardian so they could proceed with her surgery and the marrow supply treatments.”

  They walked further while Cliff went on about the last five years and what it was like to find himself trying to take care of his baby sister who suffered from a serious and costly illness. Pyotr kept quiet, giving only the occasional reminder that this was about him and he should talk about his perspective not his sister’s as they walked along the paved trail.

  As they reached the far end of the park to the running track, they climbed up the bleachers and sat to watch the college athletes at practice.

  Cliff noticed the way Pyotr’s eyes followed a few of the trim men as they sprinted down the track, then shifted to the center field where a small group was warming up. He suddenly felt the urge to gain the man’s attention back, wanting the man to be looking at him rather than the others. “Do you—” he paused not certain if the question was allowed, but then he wanted to know or rather his body wanted to know. “Are you gay?”

  Pyotr turned and looked at him. A content gleam in his eyes, not at all offended by the suggestion. “I am.”

  Cliff chewed at the inside of his lip a moment. He’d seen another man leave Pyotr’s home just as he was walking up the sidewalk earlier. Hell the home was big enough to house a whole bunch of lovers. “Won’t your lover be upset you’re out here? With me that is?”

  Pyotr never once looked away, now that the topic had been struck. “I’d have to have one first and then there would need to be an understanding this is what I do for a living. Though I don’t bring clients to my home as I have in your case.” While the focus had shifted from Cliff to himself, Pyotr allowed it. Sometimes that was a good way to get the deeper parts out and he was certain the lad had run out of surface details.

  Cliff looked the man over several times his eyes roving over the details of his body and those domineering blue eyes shimmering in the sunlight. It didn’t make sense. Pyotr was astounding to look at. He must have taken a thousand mental pictures of the man home with him last week and stared at them all whenever he had time to close his eyes and think of him. “Why don’t you?” Cliff fidgeted for the first time. The question was too personal, but already spoken so he might as well press on. “I mean you’re good looking. Why wouldn’t you have someone? And the man I saw?”

  Pyotr made a slight chuckling sound not once losing the amused expression that Cliff liked seeing in the man’s eyes. “The man you saw was most likely Pavle, one of many brothers I have. He has just recently gone through a divorce and now resides at home with me. As for the rest. I’m a very dominant man. I tend to be very controlling in my relations, but that I don’t practice kink can be disappointing for most submissives.” Cliff’s gaze shifted away from him, perhaps a little perplexed as to how to file the new information away. “I also tend to have a voracio
usly demanding sexual appetite once I’ve chosen to become involved with someone. That too can be an issue for my lover.”

  A ruddy color came over the top of Cliff’s cheeks and he glanced away.

  Pyotr loved the color on the young man. As matter of fact, he was beginning to like a number of things about him, and could not deny that had the man already been given up to him, he would drag him onto his lap and fuck him that very moment. “Does that answer your question?” Pyotr shifted it back to him, mostly just to stall what he already considered inevitable between the two of them.

  Cliff shrugged then, his eyes looking down at the ground at nothing particular, “I don’t mind that so much.” The words almost mumbled, but his thoughts were somewhere else.

  “Mind?”

  Cliff glanced at him then, “Not having kink. I don’t mind not having it.” He couldn’t say about the rest, as he’d never been with anyone with an insatiable appetite. He had never felt the bliss of being completely spent. He always felt like he could go another round.

  “So you are a submissive then.” Again it was more a statement then a question.

  “Wha-” Cliff’s mouth popped open like a carp, clamped back shut and his brow furrowed suddenly, “Ah, no.” The observation wasn’t his own. He’d always sought to be recognized as a Dom. Yet he wasn’t totally thrown that the other man suggested otherwise.

  Pyotr strummed at his lip in thought. That Cliff’s self-perceptions were completely off track, didn’t come as a surprise—Cliff wasn’t the first man to deny his true submissive nature— but that he didn’t throw a fit right away was. “So you like to Dom over women or men?” He tossed the question out to lure the man to evaluate his self-proposed role.

  Cliff’s eyes dropped to his hands clasped over the space between his spread legs, his elbows on knees. His response stalled. The truth was he didn’t Dom anyone really, not in the true sense of the word. And while he’d only slept with women, given the right opportunity he wouldn’t likely be opposed to being with a man—he just never pursued one before.

  Pyotr waited but Cliff never spoke up. Even no answer was an answer for Pyotr and only required one more to confirm. “Have you ever been with a man before?”

  Cliff’s eyes flickered towards him. The question didn’t offend him either, but then he knew it shouldn’t, a lot of people in BD played both sides. “Only once.”

  “And what was it like for you?”

  Cliff’s kept his gaze on his hands, keeping his eyes open not allowing himself to fall into a state of fantasy over the man while he sat right next to him. His response slipping out like a soft breeze. “I liked it.” And probably more then he should, but that was where his secret was. He’d played with one of the subs from the club off and on for some time. She had a kink for using a strap on and he’d discovered that he not only enjoyed being on the receiving end, he preferred it. And when he lost the wrestling match against the sexy slave Patronus was training it had been pure bliss—feeling the hot warmth of his cock deep inside him. When he should have felt humility he instead had zoned from it. It tugged at his mind that he’d rather receive over having his own cock submerged in someone’s body—how twisted was that? What guy doesn’t like fucking someone else?

  Pyotr could see there was something else lingering just under the surface, but this wasn’t the sort of thing to push. In fact it was best to end the day at this point. Let that last thought sink in, and the rest would surface soon enough.

  ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

  VISIT #3

  “So how do you feel about our sessions so far, Cliff?” Pyotr glanced over at the young man still hovering at the edge of the room, suffering against the wall rather than taking a seat to be comfortable. Cliff looked tense, uncertain about something, yet there was some deep-rooted yearning to enter that pricked at him. It showed in his eyes and the feet still pointing in the direction of the room.

  Cliff’s eyes stared down at his fingers clasped in front of him, “I still don’t know why I’m here.”

  “Don’t you?” Pyotr got up, crossing the room and passing where Cliff stood. He took a position on the wall just opposite him. It was a deliberate position—his body language telling the young man he was not to leave, that he would stay and face his demons today.

  Cliff’s eyes followed the man’s every step, feeling the gates close as Pyotr leaned back against the wall. He wasn’t actually blocking the hallway that led out of the room, but the insinuation of a blocked path was there none the less.

  Cliff paused, looking at him, and for the first time the young man appeared annoyed, yet reluctant to comment further on it.

  Pyotr’s muscular arms crossed over his midsection, “I believe your purpose for being here is to set you into the proper role you were meant to play.”

  “I told you before I’m a Dom.”

  Pyotr didn’t miss the mental foot stomping tone. “You believe that because you were forced into caring for your sister under intense conditions and had to be the person in charge in your home life. You misplaced your sexual needs in the same role, which is why you have not been able to find satisfaction.” Cliff’s expression and refusal to look Pyotr in the eyes said everything.

  Pyotr kicked off the wall, one hand scooping over Cliff’s shoulder and eased him toward the center of the room allowing the younger man to face off with him when they stopped, “Give me your hands.”

  “Why?”

  “Do as I say.” The command came across as nonnegotiable.

  Cliff held out his arms and just as Pyotr took hold of his wrists he felt the flighty panic. As if something would go wrong if he wasn’t able to escape.

  Pyotr watched the emotional conundrum develop in the young man, but what he hadn’t expected was how quickly the panic became physical.

  Cliff jerked back with all his body weight at once sending them both off balance. Pyotr had two choices—let go, which would have been counterproductive or go down with him. He quickly chose the latter, coming down on knees straddled over Cliff’s body. Where a whole new storm of emotions went into play.

  Cliff’s arms thrashed about and still Pyotr held his wrists. When some spark changed in the older man, Cliff found his wrists slammed to the floor on either side of his head and firmly pinned.

  Pyotr held Cliff down on the floor straddled over him and his wrists locked securely in his large hands. Cliff’s struggles shifted gears, pitching about his body in a defiantly, bratty manner that was turning Pyotr on. But right now this wasn’t foreplay for sex. This was about Cliff giving up his control; tying him up would be easier no doubt, but Cliff didn’t need control swiped from him. He needed to give it over. Growing up, there was no one to take over, to take care of things for him or his sister when there should have been, it all weighted down on the young man now. That was the part he needed most to let go of, but to someone that was going to be there for him when he did.

  “Did anyone ever tell you, you’re such a shejtan?” Pyotr continued to ride out the young man’s writhing body bucking underneath him despite the erection he was quickly developing from it.

  Cliff bowed up, testing the hold on his pinned arms, “What is that?”

  “Brat.” Pyotr pressed harder leaning over him, with a wicked glint in his eyes.

  Cliff’s lip pushed out in a defiant grimace, “Once or twice, maybe.”

  Pyotr chuckled. He was sure somebody did. But did they find it as sexy on the young man as he did?

  “Get off me.” Cliff bucked up against him again. But the imposing weight of the man stayed put and he only succeeded in grinding his growing hard-on against the man again. Each time the contact sent jolts of illicit currents through his balls and up his tail bone. He continued to struggle and buck with a lazy like motion wanting to cheat out another contact with the bulge growing rock-hard in Pyotr’s pants, but not so much he risked being set free.

  “But this is where you brought us.” Pyotr felt it pertinent to point out the obvious.


  “I didn’t want this.” More squirming, more deliberately accidental frotting.

  “Then perhaps you should hand control over to someone who does know what you want.”

  He stilled finally, looking up at Pyotr, “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means when you are trying to control things, you don’t succeed very well in getting what you say you want, or what you actually need. So perhaps you should hand the controls over to someone who can bring you there.”

  Cliff’s movements ebbed. “Is that someone you?” he asked, finding himself suddenly panting as if he’d just run around the block. He’d just asked the question he carried with him for the last two weeks. Just knowing the answer about to come, scared the hell out of him, regardless of which it was.

  “It can be—you need only say you want me and I will do all the rest.” Pyotr sat back on his heels pulling Cliffs hand up with him and gathering his wrists together over his mid section, keeping them there and waited.

  Cliff lay there watching the man watch him. He became increasingly aware of how close his hands were to the other man’s crotch and the erection that had stirred such an exquisite friction with his. It stole his breath away. He’d never felt such want in his life and it was almost painful that it had stopped. A kid with a raging hard-on and not a clue what to do with it. Heat brandished his finger tips, filling with the desire to touch him. The cock that clearly strained against the worn denim. He need only stretch out his fingers and he’d be able to feel the other man’s crotch, know if the bulge was straining with the same arousal as his was.

  Cliff’s eyes shot up to Pyotr’s, fearful that his thoughts were easily readable.

  As Pyotr remained over the young man, enjoying watching Cliff’s eyes drift down his body only to snap back up over and over, like a kid trying to snatch a cookie out from under watchful eyes. Cliff remained still under him now—all but his fingers. They were another story. Rather than seemingly trying to avoid any embarrassing contact, they were attempting to find that accidental touch on purpose.