by A N Bond
They walk the two blocks back to the hotel in silence. Joseph smokes another cigarette while Ryan tries to think, attempting to figure out what the hell is going on here. He’s not imagining it; he knows that now. Joseph very deliberately let him know that he’s into guys, and that he might be (that he is) into Ryan. He can’t fool himself anymore that the thought doesn’t do something to him, make his heart rate quicken and his skin prickle, creating a lurch in his belly that’s both terrifying and exhilarating. It’s the kind of sensation he’s never experienced with Daisy, no matter how much he loves and appreciates her.
“Let’s have a nightcap,” Joseph says, and from the tone of his voice, Ryan knows that it’s not a suggestion.
He tags along to the hotel bar. Joseph has a way of entering a room that makes everyone look up and notice him. Sure enough, the bartender and bored-looking waiter immediately look up as they walk in. The bar is quiet and muted, with soft lighting, like a scene from one of those old 1940s soft-focus movies that Daisy likes so much. Joseph leads them to a leather banquette in the corner. He shrugs off his overcoat, tosses it over the seat, and sinks into the thick cushions. He sprawls out over the seat, legs thrust out under the polished wood table, arms thrown across the back of the seat. Ryan takes off his coat more slowly and takes a seat beside him, aware of Joseph’s eyes tracking his every move.
The waiter appears and Joseph orders for both of them. The guy’s back a moment later with the drinks, and Joseph signs the check, evidently adding a big tip if the expression on the guy’s face is anything to go by. Ryan watches Joseph take a sip of his drink, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he swallows. Joseph lowers his glass, moistens his lips, and turns his head to look at Ryan.
“You don’t want it?” He indicates Ryan’s untouched glass.
“Yeah, yeah, sure, I want it,” Ryan says. He voice sounds unnaturally loud to him, too loud for this hushed bar, and definitely too loud for the intense way Joseph is looking at him.
They drink in silence for a couple of minutes. Ryan can’t stop looking toward the exit and the elevators. He rehearses a good-night speech in his head, imagines himself getting up and walking to the elevators, getting inside and going up to his room. It would be the easiest thing in the world.
“I should go to bed,” he says.
Joseph shrugs. “Okay.”
It’s his cue to move, but he doesn’t, his body suddenly uncooperative. Instead he watches Joseph finish his drink and raise a finger to summon the waiter. The guy glides over to them and Joseph indicates his glass. “Same again, thanks.” He raises an eyebrow at Ryan. “You want another, or are you going to bed?”
There’s a challenge in his voice and in that raised eyebrow, and Ryan remembers suddenly that this is his boss. This is the guy who can make or break his career. He wants to impress this guy.
He’s not going to bed.
“Another for me too, thanks,” he tells the waiter.
The drinks come and Joseph signs the check once more, bowing his head as he picks up the pen from the polished wood tray. The movement makes one side of his collar flip open and Ryan notices a small mark, a shaving cut or a tiny bruise or even a discolored mole on his jawline, just under his throat. The urge to lean forward and touch that mark, to feel it under his fingers or—God—under his lips is suddenly overwhelming. He pushes it away and instead takes a healthy swallow of his drink. The liquid slides down his throat, down to his fluttering stomach. He’s really aroused, aware of his cock thickening in his pants and the hairs on his arms pricking up. The physical reaction is startling and unnerving; he’s not used to feeling this out of control.
He feels his phone go off, vibrating silently in his pocket. He shifts on the padded seat, ignoring it. He knows it will be Daisy, checking in with him before she heads to bed, but now is really not the time to talk to her. Luckily, Joseph doesn’t seem to have noticed, still taking slow sips of his drink, looking like he’s deep in thought. Ryan shifts in his seat again and Joseph’s gaze cuts his way, his eyes watchful over the rim of his glass.
Joseph finishes his sip, tilting his head back and giving Ryan a glimpse of the long line of his neck and hollow of his throat. Joseph bends forward to place the glass on the table and turns his head to one side to look up at Ryan through his eyelashes, the light catching on his cheekbones. His mouth is plush, moist from the drink, and the look in his eyes—the invitation there—is unmistakable.
“Joseph,” Ryan starts to say, but his voice is shaky. He clears his throat, tries again, “What I mean is… this. You’re my boss.” His voice trails away, the words defeating him, and Joseph is still looking at him in that way, his eyelids still half-lowered, his gaze heavy and deliberate. Ryan swallows again and mutters, “I’m engaged.”
“I know,” Joseph says. His voice is low and thrilling, sending a beat through Ryan, a reverberation that he can feel all the way up his spine and down again, to his groin. God, especially to his groin.
“And you’re my boss.”
“I know that too,” Joseph says, just as low.
“So you… with your own employees….”
“Say what you mean, Ryan.”
He forces out a shaky noise, something between a sigh and a laugh. He takes a breath and meets Joseph’s gaze. “It’s a lawsuit waiting to happen. Screwing around at work.”
“We’re not at work right now.”
“But you’re still my boss, my employer.”
Joseph shrugs, not bothering to answer.
“And this is still… I mean, I don’t even….” He swallows, then insists, “I’m not gay.”
“So… you’re engaged, you’re my employee, and you don’t like dick. Why are you still here, Ryan?” Joseph says, and he’s still so infuriatingly calm, with an almost mocking lilt to his voice.
“I don’t know,” Ryan says. He gets up from the seat and grabs his coat. “Thanks for the drinks, but I think I’m gonna go to bed.”
Joseph doesn’t say anything, but Ryan can feel his eyes on him all the way out of the bar.
He doesn’t meet his eyes in the mirror that confronts him in the elevator. It takes him five attempts to get the keycard to work in his door, fingers shaking and heart thumping furiously. He shrugs off his coat, letting it fall to the floor in a heavy pile, and kicks off his shoes, not caring where they end up. He stumbles into the bathroom and grips the sides of the basin, his head bowed, not wanting to meet his reflection in the mirror over the sink.
Eventually, he lifts his head, runs one hand through his hair, down over his eyes, nose, mouth, his jaw. He starts to unbutton his shirt, wrestling with the stupid little buttons, working his shoulders to slide it off his arms. The cuffs catch around his wrists and he wriggles again, the cheap cufflinks popping free and scattering across the bathroom tile.
He climbs into the shower when he’s finally naked. It’s hot and powerful, and he stands under the showerhead letting the water cascade over him, gluing his hair to his head in a thick, wet curtain. He loses track of time under the unceasing, hammering spray, and by the time he shuts off the water, his fingertips are crinkled and his skin stained red from the heat. His heart is thumping, and his entire body feels like it’s been soaked in the hot water, his legs weak and heavy. He’s not concentrating, not coordinating his stupid body, and his foot slips on the slick tile when he steps out of the tub. He skids, legs pinwheeling and flailing underneath him. He hits the floor with a thud, the impact slamming the breath from his lungs.
He lies still, concentrating on getting his breath back. His head throbs and his ankle and tailbone ache with sharp, jagged twinges of pain. He lets out a long, pathetic sigh, slumps back against the wet tile, and counts the beats in his head as the aches slowly start to subside.
He gets up gingerly. He puts one hand to his throbbing head and his fingertips come away red, blood staining his crinkled, pink fingers. He hoists himself up using the basin, smearing blood against the white porcelain, and peers into
the slowly defogging mirror. There’s a small cut on his temple and it’s bleeding freely, a stark red line of blood flowing down his cheek and staining his skin. He prods at it gingerly, wincing, and stares down mesmerized at his bloodied fingers.
He could’ve killed himself. Just like that, being clumsy after a shower, not concentrating on what he was doing, not putting down the nonslip bathmat. He could’ve died. It’s ridiculous, but it could’ve happened. That could’ve been it. The end. He lets out a shaky, hysterical breath, the nervous laughter fluttering in his chest, the adrenaline and pain and—God, all of it—making him feel light-headed. He grins at his reflection, a crazy Jack Torrance special, white teeth and hysterical eyes and bloody temples. He pushes himself away from the sink and stumbles into the bedroom. He gathers up his slacks and pulls them on, the scratchy stiff fabric sticking to his damp legs and ass. He snatches up the key card from the security lock by the door and goes out to the corridor.
He knocks on the door of Joseph’s suite. He hears a sound from the end of the corridor and he jerks his head in the direction of the noise, freezing like he’s been caught out when he sees a guy come out of his room. But the guy turns the other way, heading toward the stairs at the other end of the corridor. Ryan sighs in relief and turns his attention back to Joseph’s door. He hears the lock slide free and the door opens, revealing Joseph in his suit pants and white undershirt. Ryan blinks and feels the pulses in his wrists and groin throb, as if his hand was on a stereo speaker.
Joseph doesn’t say anything, just takes a step backward, like he’s conceding space. Ryan steps inside and the door thuds closed behind them. They stand in silence for what feels like a long moment, though it’s probably only a couple of seconds. He can feel Joseph’s eyes on him, taking in the bare feet, the really obvious erection tenting his half-buttoned pants, his naked and wet torso, soaking wet hair, and finishing at the cut on his temple and the dribble of blood on his cheek.
“You’re bleeding,” Joseph says. He reaches out to touch the cut, but Ryan stops him, grabbing onto his wrist. Joseph’s eyes widen in shock and Ryan tightens his grip, fingers wrapping all the way around Joseph’s wrist. He’s suddenly aware of just how damn big his hands are. Joseph is his superior, his boss, but he’s still bigger. He could overpower him, if he wanted to. The knowledge thrills him and he tugs Joseph forward, jerking him by the wrist. Joseph’s mouth opens in surprise and Ryan can actually see the color rise in his throat and face. For the first time since Ryan met him, Joseph looks like he’s not completely in control and the thought is unbelievably arousing. Ryan curls his hand around the back of Joseph’s neck and crushes their mouths together.
The sensation is like releasing the brakes on top of a hill, rolling and speeding and plummeting, going faster and faster. Joseph’s stubble is rough and scratchy against Ryan’s face but his lips feel soft and pliant, parting and sucking and dragging Ryan’s tongue inside. He plunders Joseph’s mouth and jerks his body forward, pushing and wrestling Joseph backward, uncaring of where or what they fall into as long as their bodies never lose contact.
Joseph kisses hungrily, aggressively, fighting him for dominance, but Ryan is not giving into him. He wants to be in control of this one thing. He wants to show Joseph what he can do, what he can do for him. Joseph is the first to give in, the first to tear his mouth away and pant for breath. He looks wild, hair mussed, cheeks hot, and eyes dark. Ryan stares back at him, uncurls his fingers from around Joseph’s wrist and brings them to his own lips like he can’t believe what they just did. His own lips feel sore under his fingertips, and they’re hot, like they’ve been seared, branded, and bruised, all at the same time. Joseph’s mouth looks just as bruised, pink and puffy, and Ryan wants to taste it again.
Joseph cuts him a look, eyes dark and glittering, before he lowers his head, bottom lip caught between his teeth. Ryan feels his body freeze up as Joseph’s fingers smooth down his naked chest, over his abs, to flicker and tease at the waistband of his hastily buttoned pants. He flinches, lets out a strange choking gasp when Joseph’s fingers flutter over the outline of his cock, stiff and aching, pressed up against the seam of his dress pants.
Joseph doesn’t tease him any further, but flicks open the buttons to his fly. Joseph lets out a little appreciative noise as his fingers run up the thick, engorged length. Ryan feels a shiver run through him, a full-body experience of terrifying pleasure. He groans out loud and sways into Joseph. He’s hard, God, he’s so fucking hard; he can’t remember the last time he felt this hard. He glances down at his cock, seeing Joseph’s hand wrapped around it, the head poking out of his fist, bloodred and fat.
Ryan shudders, tightens his grip on Joseph’s neck to steady himself. His breathing is heavy, his chest rising and falling erratically. His stomach muscles quiver on each pass of Joseph’s hand over his shaft, each glide of Joseph’s fingers, up and down. He bows his head, presses his mouth to the top of Joseph’s head, right into his sweaty hairline, and breathes in and out in time with every jerk of Joseph’s wrist. He closes his eyes, then opens them again, terrified of missing anything—of not being there—not experiencing every single beat of this. Joseph’s face is in shadow, but he’s concentrating so diligently, the same look on his face as when he’s reading a tricky brief. They’re both so quiet, the only sounds their heavy breathing and the steady, fap-fap, slippery sounds of his cock sliding through Joseph’s fingers.
“Joseph,” he mutters, and then because he can: “Joseph, Joseph, God, Joseph.”
Joseph says nothing, but he tilts his head back, looks up into Ryan’s eyes with that dark, glittering gaze. His right hand strokes up and down, up and down, ceaseless and relentless and pushing Ryan closer and closer to the edge. Ryan’s stomach dips and falls away, his body shakes and shudders, the sensation resonating through every pore and every cell, and then he’s shaking, cursing silently, and spurting into Joseph’s—his boss’s—fingers. Joseph tugs him through his last helpless twitches; then he slides his hand away with one last caressing, almost petting motion. He wipes his sticky fingers off on Ryan’s belly, and Ryan’s stomach muscles jump at the touch. He releases his hold on Joseph and takes a couple of shaky steps backward. He exhales, fingers going unconsciously to the sticky mess smeared over his stomach.
“Joseph, God, I can’t believe that we just—”
“C’mon,” Joseph murmurs. He places his palm in the middle of Ryan’s chest, pushes him backward. “Move,” he says.
Ryan swallows and complies, doesn’t take his eyes off Joseph’s face as Joseph walks him backward until the backs of his legs are hitting the bed. He stumbles and sinks down onto the bed. Joseph looms over him, and Ryan notices the tent in his pants for the first time, Joseph’s cock swollen and straining against the fine, expensive material. He licks his lips and tilts his head back to look up at Joseph.
Joseph just shoves him backward. “Move,” he says tersely.
Ryan scoots up the bed, the soft comforter plush and thick underneath him. He’s still wearing his suit pants, though they’re stained now with his own jizz. He only has the one pair with him—it wasn’t like he had time to pack a change of clothes—but the thought barely registers. It’s not important, not right now, not when Joseph is yanking his undershirt off over his head, unbuckling his belt, and tugging down his zipper. Joseph strips matter-of-factly, his eyes never leaving Ryan as his fingers work. Ryan wonders suddenly how many men Joseph has jerked off over the years. But once again, the thought barely registers, not when Joseph steps out of his pants and hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his boxer briefs, his dick outlined in the skintight material like it’s wrapped in cellophane. He’s absolutely gorgeous, and Ryan really wants to touch him.
“Take off your pants,” Joseph tells him.
Ryan fumbles to obey, arching his back to bring his hips off the bed as he pushes down his ruined pants. They catch around his left ankle and he kicks them off, letting them tumble in a heap to the floor. Joseph’s eyes
go to his cock, spent but still half-hard, curled up over the crease of his thigh. Joseph’s gaze gets heated as he pushes down his underwear to let his own cock spring free. Ryan licks his lips, staring at the other man and feeling completely turned-around. He’s never gotten this turned-on by another guy’s dick before. All those other times, with other guys, it had never been about the size or shape of their junk, but about what they could do for him, how they could make him feel, heady and terrified and filled with self-loathing but unable to stop himself, caught and held by the maleness of it all.
Joseph crawls onto the bed and looms over him. He places his hand on Ryan’s chest and pushes him into the soft, giving covers. He bows his head and licks a pattern over Ryan’s belly button, making Ryan’s stomach muscles flutter and his legs twitch, raising a swell of gooseflesh up and down his arms and across the nape of his neck. Joseph’s tongue swipes along the grooves of his abdominal muscles, and Ryan thinks hopelessly of the drying come on his body, of Joseph licking up his drying come. It should be disgusting, but it’s one of the filthiest and most erotic things anyone’s ever done to him.
Joseph raises his head, licks his lips, tongue slicking pink and challenging over his glistening bottom lip. This time Ryan knows that the hooded, provocative look in his eyes and the arrogant curl of his mouth is deliberate. Whatever momentary loss of control Joseph had in the doorway to his room when Ryan pushed him back against the wall has completely vanished. Joseph is definitely the one in charge now, and Ryan likes it. His body is starting to feel like it’s ready to get hard all over again. Joseph smirks at him and bows his head again, sliding down the bed and down Ryan’s body. He kisses the inside of Ryan’s thighs, nuzzles his face into the crease between his thighs and his groin.
He breathes in deep and raises his head to growl, “Next time, don’t shower first. I want to smell you. I want to see what you smell like after a day’s work. You got that, Ryan?”
