There had been so many times, so many ways he could have taken Harlan that it bordered on the absurd. Sawyer knew, with just a crook of his finger, he could have the younger man on his knees, mouth open, cock hard. And as appealing as that was, he refrained, earning him not only a halo, but also a place in the record books for the bluest blue balls known to man.
Resisting Harlan had truly become his full time job, yet no one but he could see the merit of it. Even tonight, his nearest and dearest friends had called him seven kinds of fools for not making a move. They pointed out countless times that come tomorrow, any ethical barriers that might have morally prevented him from taking advantage of his position of authority were no longer in the mix. As if Sawyer hadn’t been counting down to this day for years now. But even knowing that, Sawyer couldn’t rightfully take what very well could be misplaced hero worship and use it for his own personal and sexual gain.
It was wrong. And he refused to be that guy.
Instead, he was going through with his plan to let Harlan carry on with his life and he would do the same. Miserable as his days would now be without Harlan around, it was the right thing to do.
Ready to put this horrible day to bed, Sawyer turned on his computer. As tired as he was, he was a creature of habit, and he couldn’t go to bed without checking his mail. Yawning, he waited for his computer to turn on, before logging on to his Internet browser and keying up his mail. It took only a few seconds for his email to upload, and when it did, he scrolled down the subject lines, trashing spam along the way as he searched for anything of substance.
“Thanks but no thanks,” he muttered to the erectile dysfunction ad. If he could find out who the annoying bastards were who responsible for generating impotence and penis enlargement email ads, he’d kill them.
It was funny that he had this need to check his mail when ninety-nine percent of the time it was usually junk. Bored now, Sawyer went to close his email when a new message appeared. The sender’s name quickly caught his attention, as did the subject line, If the mountain won’t come to Muhammad…
Amused at the other man’s tenacity, Sawyer clicked on Harlan’s email. “What are you up to,” he wondered aloud as he waited for the message to appear.
His amusement quickly morphed into confusion as he stared at the dialogue-empty email. There was no message, no smiley face, nothing but a link to a video attachment.
What the hell?
Frowning, Sawyer glanced back up at the sender’s address, verifying it was truly Harlan’s. He’d hate to click on the movie and download a virus. He had way too much porn on his computer to ever want to take it to a shop. He’d rather take the machine out back and shoot it than deal with the sly, mocking, never-had-a-date-I-didn’t-pay-for looks from the geeks who worked in those shops.
Satisfied it was Harlan who’d sent the message, Sawyer moved his cursor over to the link. He hesitated for a second before downloading the movie, remembering the last video Harlan sent him. There had been two girls all right, but no cup in sight. If it was that kind of gross stuff again, Harlan would die. Cute or not.
Apprehensive, he clicked play, but kept the cursor on standby, just in case. The video keyed up right away, opening up in the doorway of a large tan bathroom, facing a glass door shower. In the reflection, he could see two figures, one peering down at the camera on the tripod and another standing just a bit off-screen.
With brows furrowed, Sawyer stared at the movie, wondering what exactly he was supposed to be watching. Music started, a familiar jazzy rock beat. The man off-screen walked into the bathroom, head down, so that only the back of his black suit was visible. He stood in a pose, legs apart, hands down at his sides, palms facing forward. When the seedy voice of Joe Cocker belted out the beginning lyrics of the all-too-familiar song, the man turned around. Looking straight at the camera, Harlan smiled.
Sawyer’s cock responded before his brain did, rising hard and fast beneath his zipper. Harlan on film. Damn. Like a lightning bolt, clarity struck. Mountain. Muhammad. Harlan dressed in an old-style black tuxedo with matching fedora. Fuck. Sawyer was screwed.
“Son of a bi—” Sawyer couldn’t even finish the comment, because Harlan began to dance. He started off with slow, sensual movements that hit every dip and groove of the song playing in the background. This was no slam, bam, thank you, ma'am sort of thing. Harlan took his time, using the space afforded him in the bathroom like a stage.
For lack of a better word, Harlan was stunning. The tuxedo hugged his muscular frame perfectly, making Sawyer ache to know just what lay underneath it all. His dark chocolate strands were all but covered by the black hat he wore low on his brow. With his index finger, he moved the hat up a little, bringing his laughing hazel eyes into view. The bastard had him, and he knew it.
Without taking off a stitch, Harlan painted an erotic image in Sawyer’s head of pleasures to come. Common sense told him to turn the video off. No one was forcing Sawyer to watch, to break the pledge he made himself a year ago. But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. He had to see just what it was he was giving up. He was a masochist, hell-bent on riding the Titanic that was his obsession to this watery grave.
Sawyer moved his sweaty hand away from the mouse and wiped it on his thigh, well aware of his erection, just a few inches away, raring to go. There was no doubt in his mind he’d have his cock in his hand before the end of the show. But Sawyer had never been the impatient type. He wanted to savor this dance for all it was worth.
The jacket was the first item of clothing to go, shrugged to the floor with a subtle move of Harlan’s broad shoulders, before he turned to the side, and placed his hands flat on the wall. He looked back at the camera and leaned forward, snaking his body towards the wall. Then he spun toward the shower, rocking his hips back and forth, ensuring Sawyer’s eyes were focused on one of his best features. His ass.
The move was in no way necessary. Sawyer had stared at Harlan’s ass for the last two years. If need be, he could draw it blindfolded, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to look his fill now. Easing back in his chair, Sawyer ran his hand over his aching erection, imagining the way Harlan would look dancing on his cock. With an ass that round and firm, Sawyer knew it would be a hell of a ride.
“Fuck,” he muttered as his eyes took in everything he’d denied himself for the last two years. If Harlan wanted to make him pay for ignoring him, he was doing a bang-up job.
With a thrust and spin, Harlan was facing front once more. Licking his lips, he slowly pulled his shirt out of his pants, all the while moving his hips in figure eight motions. Without losing the beat, or breaking eye contact with the camera, Harlan began to undress.
His fingers danced over the front of his shirt, parting the material, revealing a hint of the treasure that waited below the white cloth. When he reached the very last button, he took the shirt in two hands and jerked it open, flashing not only his well-defined, tanned chest, but also his dark nipples adorned with silver hoops.
Sawyer’s eyebrows shot to his hairline. Harlan was pierced. Sawyer hadn’t known. Then again, there was no reason why he should have. Their relationship didn’t allow for such knowledge. It was for the best though. Sawyer would have found it awfully hard to keep his vow knowing how the other man was adorned under his clothing. Even now, he had to resist the urge to jump from his seat and drive over to Harlan’s house and take what was so blatantly offered to him.
Things hadn’t gone so far yet that they couldn’t still remain professional acquaintances. He hoped. Sure, Sawyer had fantasy fodder for the next twenty years or more, and he was more than likely crossing every line he’d methodically drawn in the sand over the years, but he couldn’t stop watching. Not when it was just starting to get good.
As if sensing his captive audience, Harlan carelessly tossed the shirt to the floor and reached over to the counter to pick up a small plastic bottle. He tipped it upside down and squirted the clear liquid onto his exposed flesh. The oil ran like a river down
his chest, past the rippling cut squares of his six-pack, to the band of his black slacks. Moving at a speed that rivaled molasses, Harlan followed the liquid with his hand, rubbing the oil into his skin until his chest was glistening in the halogen light.
He walked a few steps forward then spun around, bringing his ripped back into view. Leaning to the side, he flicked a switch, dimming the light in the bathroom while turning on a light just above the shower.
Don’t. Don’t. Don’t, Sawyer silently urged, not sure he would survive much more.
Harlan took a step toward the shower then twisted around and crooked his finger in a “come here” gesture. He opened the door and carefully stepped inside the enclosure, still dressed in his pants and hat. With his back towards the tile, he pulled the door closed, then turned and faced the spout. He turned the nozzle and adjusted the spray with a dramatic flair while somehow still remaining on beat and shaking his hips.
The glass was crystal clear, allowing Sawyer to see everything that took place with breathtaking clarity. As he watched in awe, Harlan raised his hands above his head and swirled his hips, before snaking his body forward and allowing the water to rain down on him. And just as quickly as he moved forward, he danced back, turning, dipping low, gyrating in the shower as if it were a cage at a club.
How he didn’t slip and fall was a wonder to Sawyer and he had to hand it to him. The man had skills. He was a natural born dancer, seducer. He held Sawyer captivated from the start.
Reaching out, Harlan put one hand on the tile to his left and the other to his right above the spouts and twisted around until his ass was once more facing Sawyer. After a few seductive swirls of his hips, Harlan bent partway over, grabbed the front of his pants and tugged, pulling them clear of his body in one swift move. He stayed bent over for a second, giving Sawyer a glimpse of perfectly ripe buttocks, separated by the very thin silver backing of his thong.
Enough was enough. Unable to resist a second longer, Sawyer pushed his chair back a bit and undid his pants, freeing his cock to his waiting hands. Blindly, he pulled open the top drawer and pulled out a small bottle of lube. One-handed, he flipped the top and let the cool liquid dribble over the head of his cock. He dropped the bottle to the floor, not even bothering to put it back in his haste to stroke his shaft.
The second he closed his hand over his aching member he sighed with pleasure. He needed relief, almost as badly as he needed to bury his cock to the hilt inside Harlan’s tight ass and fuck him stupid.
Maybe he’d take Harlan while he was in that exact position, bent over and ready to receive. Sawyer tightened his hand around his hard, aching shaft at the thought. Fuck, he bet Harlan would feel good stretched around his turgid length.
Moaning, he watched through lust-filled eyes as Harlan spun around and faced the camera once more, giving Sawyer his first eagle eye view of tightly packed thong. Harlan tossed the pants down on the bench seat in the shower and moved back into the center of the glass enclosure.
With his back against the wall, Harlan began a slow descent, sinuously dancing down the wall, gyrating his hips as he ran his hands sensually over his wet body. His timing was precise, his moves explicit, Harlan made love to Sawyer without even being in the same room with him.
Twisting his hips, he worked his way back up as he eased his hand down to the side of his G-string, toying with the band. Sawyer’s breath hitched. Last time he’d been in Tricky Dix they served alcohol, which meant no full frontal, but maybe there had been changes and this was all part of Harlan’s normal act. Or then again, maybe he was just teasing Sawyer.
Lord, he hoped not.
Still moving in time to the song, Harlan danced around until he was facing away from the camera. Teasingly, he pulled the thong down, skimming the band under his firm cheeks, before bringing it up again and turning around to face the camera once more. With his thumbs in the side, he slowly pulled the front down, exposing his hairless groin, but not an inch of the thing Sawyer wanted to see most.
Groaning, Sawyer stroked his cock faster, ethics be damned. “Take it off,” he muttered through dry lips. “Just take it off.”
His prayer was answered, as Harlan unsnapped first one side, then the other side of his thong, before tossing it on top of his pants. Wearing only the hat now, he proudly displayed his erect cock.
The mere sight of his student’s shaft sent tremors down Sawyer’s body. That was nothing compared to the lust that filled him as Harlan took his cock in hand and began to stroke himself. From the measured pace in which he moved, Sawyer knew he wasn’t trying to get off, just torment Sawyer more.
And he’d be damned if it didn’t work. Sawyer wanted to watch Harlan go over. To see this young man, whose body he craved more than his next breath, come. For the first time since he began his routine, Harlan stopped dancing. Instead, he leaned against the tile wall and began to pleasure himself as Sawyer watched with bated breath.
God, he’s beautiful. Never before had Sawyer seen anything so lovely in his life.
Harlan ducked his head, hiding his face with his hat, which was a real pity. Sawyer wanted to see his eyes, wanted to read the expression on Harlan’s handsome face, so he could tell if this was just part of the act or if he was enjoying this as much as Sawyer was.
Then like magic, Harlan looked up. And like that, Sawyer knew. It wasn’t just a dance. The naked need, mixed with vulnerability, couldn’t be faked. This was just for Sawyer and the knowledge alone pushed him over the edge. With a ragged moan, Sawyer came, coating his cock and spots of his desk with his passion.
Sawyer kept his gaze locked on the screen as he came. He didn’t want to close his eyes and risk missing even a minute of Harlan’s show. Breathing heavily, he milked strain after strain of sticky semen while staring hungrily at the other man, still slowly fucking his fist.
When Sawyer’s tender member could take not a touch more, he released his spent cock, and leaned heavily back in his chair. Trembling, he tried his best to calm his racing heart. Sawyer had known it all along. Harlan’s act was too much to bear. From the way the other man was speeding up his strokes, Sawyer thought it might have been too much for him to bear as well.
Just when he thought the other man was going to spill his seed, Harlan paused. The crescendo of the music seemed to pull Harlan back, taking him out of whatever headspace he’d gone to. Releasing his cock, he picked up where he left off dancing. When the final notes filled the air, he pushed the shower open and tossed the hat at the camera. The screen suddenly went black, leaving Sawyer high and dry.
He felt robbed. The sensual dance had not been enough. To hell with good intentions. Harlan owed him an orgasm, and Sawyer had every intention of collecting. It looked as if school wasn’t out just yet. Sawyer had one more lesson to teach his apt pupil, and that was not to play with fire.
Chapter Two
Graduations were stupid. And as much as Harlan knew it meant a lot to his folks, he’d rather be at home, sitting in his lazy chair in his underwear, watching the game on TV. It was an archaic ceremony that only managed to keep him in school a few hours longer than necessary after he’d already done his required time. And if it weren’t for his parents driving up from Santa Monica, he would have checked the box to have his diploma mailed home. The standing, sitting, switching the tassel from one side to the other was ritualistic bullshit, and he was so over it. Thankfully though, it was finally all over and he was free to wander with the rest of the graduates.
Letting out a sigh bigger than the last three before it, Harlan scanned the crowds once more in hopes of spotting Sawyer. When he once again found no one in the sea of people who even slightly resembled the professor, he frowned. He knew Sawyer was there. The only question was where.
“If you sigh any harder, your chest might concave.”
The annoying voice of his younger brother did what it usually did, made Harlan want to dropkick the younger man into next week. He loved him, Lord knew he did, but he wasn’t in the mood to pu
t up with the other man’s bitching. Without turning around, he tried his best to ignore him, as he had all week long. “Is there a reason you’ve planted yourself at my side?”
“The parental unit insisted, of course.” Rhys came up beside his brother. The once shorter man now matched Harlan inch for inch, making him wonder and not for the first time, when his sidekick had sprouted up like a weed. Missing a few summer and Christmas breaks was really beginning to catch up with him.
“And they are?”
“Trying their best to find every single teacher you have ever had, so they can personally thank them. Graciousness is what the Sheppards are all about, unless, of course, it’s the prodigal son. He doesn’t seem to know the meaning of the word.”
His brother’s bitterness brought a smile to Harlan’s face. What a brat. Turning around he looked over at the other man, who was losing a battle with his gray pinstripe tie. A frown marred the face of a man Harlan barely knew. Rhys was no longer the boy he'd shared a room with for most of his youth. He was practically a stranger, and Harlan knew he had no one to blame but himself. Harlan had spent the last few years working as hard as he studied, leaving little time to get to know the man his brother had become. Something he hoped to rectify in the upcoming months, but until then it appeared as if he had some fences to mend. “Still mad you had to hang at the hotel last night?”
Rhys gave up the war with his tie and shot Sawyer a disgusted look. “I have three words for you, bro. Home Shopping Network. It was brutal.”
Harlan winced. “Sorry, man.”
“Not as sorry as I was, and do you know what topped off my evening?”
Harlan couldn’t imagine anything worse. “No.”
“I actually heard them.” Rhys lowered his voice and leaned closer. “Doing it.”
Apparently, Harlan’s imagination wasn’t as perverted as his parents’ reality. “Stop it.”
You Can Leave Your Hat On Page 2
