by J P Sayle
Martin
What the fuck?
Martin’s insides quivered. He was convinced he was on a roller coaster about to make a big drop into an abyss. He raced ahead, needing to catch his breath alone. The bile burned his throat and coated his tongue. His thoughts were a tumbled mess as he considered what had just happened.
Watching Brad’s colour drain and eyes roll back had taken at least ten years of his life. His instincts had had him diving to catch Brad as he went boneless. The first full contact brought a feeling of rightness. Overwhelmed, he’d cradled him close. The feeling of belonging captivated Martin.
He’d breathed in the sweet fragrance of ripe cherries, unable to resist nuzzling Brad’s aromatic hair. Brushing his lips against its satiny softness, he’d watched it glint like spun gold as it haloed his face angelically. Martin was amused at his romanticising thoughts.
Unable to stop, he laid his forehead against Brad’s, reassured by the warmth. Settling his weight against his chest, he consoled himself that Brad was safe. More shaken that he wanted to admit, he’d waited for those beautiful eyes to open. Praying Brad wouldn’t freak out. The faint hinted at a suitcase full of crap.
But that wasn’t what had his stomach knotting. The raised wheels of skin under Brad’s T-shirt had his mind whirling. Initially his mind refused to acknowledge what the thin barrier of Brad’s T-shirt couldn’t hide. Shifting Brad as concern overrode his common sense, he pulled Brad’s top up. The reality made his blood run cold at the horrific possibilities.
Martin felt his dread grip him by the throat. His words were barely a whisper. “Oh, my God.” Terror slipped past a hard mask of anger, blinding him for a second. His rage rammed its hungry fist into his chest. Breathless, Martin attempted to pant past the pain. Blinking back the tears and fighting the acrid burn, he tried to swallow past it. His hands wanted to clench and pound the living daylights out of someone.
Faceless, nameless questions flew about bumping into each other, demanding him to find the answers. He knew that if he bullied Brad, it could break the tenuous bond he’d created, but fuck, he needed to know.
Running his hand through his hair, he’d watched as Brad’s eyes flicked open. Relief coursed through him. He laid his head down on Brad. Breathing in his sweet aroma, he’d let it calm him.
Letting that thought linger, he waited, watching Brad move at a snail’s pace. Though still pale, he appeared steadier at least. Brad had reached the end of the path when Martin noticed a flicker of movement over his shoulder. Shit, Ms Stevens.
Martin strode forward, grabbing Brad’s hand and pulling him towards the door. After everything they had been through, she was the last thing they needed. Casting a furtive look over his shoulder, he saw something sliver across her face as she stared at their joined hands. He felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck and his gut clench. Alarm bells clanged as he registered not only disapproval but something more sinister.
He yanked at Brad, and he stumbled past Martin as he slammed the door. Giving him an apologetic smile, he grimaced. “Ms Stevens was just about to collar us. I am not up to a fifty-minute discussion on the weather while she tries to pry open my life with her extra-large can opener.”
The giggle that escaped Brad had Martin’s smile returning, mellowing at the sweet sound.
Brad’s next statement had Martin shuddering at the thought. “I am sure she has a movement alarm attached to each front door so that she can chain herself to you for hours.”
He nodded in agreement, fascinated as Brad’s eyelashes fluttered when he giggled.
“That is not an image I want in my head. Chained to that woman.” Martin’s lips ghosted Brad’s ear as he spoke. “Now, chained to you for hours has possibilities that I would love to explore.” Satisfied when he felt Brad tremble with desire, Martin pulled back. He led the way into the kitchen and felt immensely pleased when Brad followed without question.
Martin shifted his body. Glancing down, he moved his hand to his pocket, readjusting himself. The indrawn breath had him looking back at Brad. Brad’s gaze was focused further south. Coughing, Martin hid his satisfied smirk behind his hand as Brad dragged reluctant eyes back up. Letting him off the hook for the moment, he beckoned Brad.
“Come on. Let’s go get your little pussycat. Though if you’re not in a rush, I could make something to eat. You haven’t eaten have you?”
A deafening gurgle stopped Martin in his tracks. He chuckled. He was convinced Brad would have lied if his stomach hadn’t given him away. The startled expression Brad cast at his stomach had Martin howling with laughter. The sheepish look Brad directed at him made it worse. Tears flowed down his face as he gripped his sides. Dragging in a breath, he tried to calm down. He missed Brad’s question. “Say again?” Martin wiped away the tears of laughter.
“You want to cook for me?”
Martin’s smile broadened at the disbelieving tone. “I love to cook, and after what you went through back at your house, I feel a little responsible. Plus, your stomach sounds like ten hungry cats fighting for the last morsel.”
Sniggering, Martin guided Brad towards the patio door.
“It’s unlocked. Go get your little pussy, and I can feed her too. I have the makings of a stir-fry from last night. Will that do, and do you want chicken or beef?”
Martin watched as Brad chewed his lip. His uncertainty crept out while he hesitated.
“Are you sure?”
Martin gave a reassuring smile. “Listen. As I said, I like to cook and am quite good. Well, I like to think so. I also prefer to cook for more than one, so you would be doing me a favour.”
A sceptical look flashed across Brad’s face before turning contemplative. Tropical green eyes sparked a second before he cast a devious look at Martin. Martin drew in a quick breath. His heart rate spiked as his cock went from semi to rock hard in a split second. Making a concerted effort not to move, Martin straightened as his head swam. He held Brad’s searing gaze. Words finally penetrated through the sexual haze the look had caused.
“Well, as you have already thought about being chained to Ms Stevens, maybe she could keep you company, and you could feed her while chained to her.”
The cheeky words had a rosy blush pushing up his neck, making his skin glow. Brad’s inability to hold his stare disappointed Martin. Letting it go, he followed Brad to the door. He chuckled when he realised he was looking for an escape.
Taking a chance, Martin closed the distance, so their lips were mere centimeters apart. Martin could feel the warmth of Brad’s breath brushing lightly against his. A lingering smell of mint teased the air. Inhaling, he moved closer. He kept watching as Brad’s eyebrows shot up his forehead.
“Well, you’re a naughty boy, but I remember telling you that the only one I will be having chained to me is you.” His voice rumbled out, making his chest vibrate against Brad’s. Before he could think about it, Martin slid his tongue out, tracing Brad’s full, pouty lower lip. The juicy sweetness burst across the tip of his tongue. Hell, he even tasted like a peach. Groaning into Brad’s mouth, he nibbled at him as if he was a delicious delicacy. A needy moan brushed against his mouth. Greedy for more, Martin deepened the caress. His tongue slid against Brad’s, seeking, and their tongues tangled together. The need to breathe was forgotten as Brad’s taste inflamed. His hands tangled in soft curls, dragging him closer. Too many clothes, was his last coherent thought as he ravaged Brad’s mouth.
God, he felt so lost in the kiss. The need pounded through his veins, and his soul screamed, “Mine.” Oh God, how was he going to survive this? He could almost feel Brad lifting him. He felt as if he swallowed helium. Martin’s light-headedness registered with his need to breathe. Reluctantly, he released Brad. With heaving chest, he pulled back a few inches, pleased as Brad’s mouth gave chase.
He felt his hands shake as he held Brad close. Brad’s hot puffs of air made his skin tingle as if touched by butterfly wings. It only seemed to add to his growing arousal. The
ir entwined bodies fitted perfectly together. He felt Brad’s cock strain against his thigh. Making an internal war rage, he knew Brad needed food, but his cock was pretty much unyielding at this point. His other brain was thinking it would be all the sustenance Brad could want. Martin’s hips moved unchecked against Brad, like a heat-seeking missile pursuing its target.
Heaving a sigh, he pulled back. The feeling of loss so great his knuckles whitened while he tried to cling to his sanity. Brad’s wince had him snatching his hands back. His fingers ached as they flexed.
“Sorry, baby, I got a little lost at the moment.” Casting a shamefaced look, he moved to the counter, taking a couple of calming breaths. He avoided looking at Brad.
“Do you want chicken or beef, babe?” He ignored the tremor he could hear in his voice or his not so steady hands and went to grab the herbs off the window ledge.
“Erm, chicken please. Princess prefers that as well.” Words rushed together as Brad retreated, his cheeks flushing crimson.
Martin caught the side view as he went. Loving the tent in his jeans, Martin’s lips curled in satisfaction. The smug smile was firmly back in place. He pushed his cock into a more comfortable position or tried to. He opened the fridge, hoping the cold air would cool his heated flesh. His nipples beaded under the cotton. He moved away because that was so not helping his predicament.
Gathering what he needed, he placed it down. Martin wandered to the Bose speaker and connected his iPhone. Hitting random shuffle, he let it choose, hoping it would create a more relaxed atmosphere.
He moved back to the counter. Considering his choices, he gathered some herbs. Humming along to Jack Savoretti’s song “Home,” he prepped the food.
The loud sigh had him glancing up at Brad. His slumped shoulders, down-cast head and empty arms told their story. Feeling extraordinarily pleased, he hid his smile.
“I take it Princess is not that keen to leave her cubbyhole just yet.” Martin had to hide his humour at the look of disappointment on Brad’s face at his words. He’d bet anything Brad had hoped to escape. Only to have those hopes dashed by a little cat. He was starting to love that cat.
A whiny tone filled the air. “I have no clue what is up with Princess, but she refuses to come out of the tree house.” Brad’s childish foot stomp, along with his lower lip poking out, had Martin want to do all sorts of inappropriate things to him. Struggling to ignore his body, he focused on Brad.
“I have no idea how to get her to come out!” Brad marched to the chair, flinging himself down. Martin watched in fascination as Brad perched his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his hands before glaring out the door.
Wanting to appease him, Martin spoke. “Well, maybe the food will entice her in.” He tried not to laugh when Brad continued to glare, not looking convinced.
Letting him chill, Martin went to the fridge to grab a bottle of white wine, pouring a glass and placing it in front of Brad.
“Relax, baby. She will come in when she gets fed up.”
Martin only got a shrug in response. But Brad picked up the wine and sipped. His dimples winked at Martin as he smiled. Pleased he liked it, Martin poured another glass and sipped.
He could still feel the tension between them. It was palpable. Martin decided to step away hoping for a more relaxed atmosphere to eat in. He wanted them get to know each other better. That wasn’t going to happen if he couldn’t figure out how to get past his bloody lust. Turning to the counter, he covertly lowered his hand, readjusting again. At this point, he was going to need bigger jeans to house his ever-growing problem. The internal sigh had him shaking his head.
Moving to the stove, he got cracking and prepared the meal. He chatted about work, hoping it would reduce the tension. Regaling stories about his colleagues, Martin was pleased when Brad’s smile spread across his face. He was blinded by it as he described Emma’s little flashing accident. He explained how she had spent over an hour waltzing around town with her dress tucked into her knickers. How mortified he’d been to be the one to spot it on her return. His cheeks heated as he remembered her response. “She had the audacity to tilt her arse up at me and say, ‘pull it out for me, will you’. No way was I touching that.” Martin shuddered in disgust.
A rich, booming laugh filled the room. Brad clutched the table as he rocked back and forth, eyes sparkling with humour. Brad’s hiccups made Martin smile as he tried to stop. He was pleased Brad was no longer glaring at the open patio door. He placed the meals down after plating a small cat-sized portion, which he left by the door.
Sitting across from Brad, he encouraged him to eat. Mixed spices warmed his mouth. Chilli added a little bite, heating his lips. Perfect. The meat melted. The softness was a great balance for the crunch of the vegetables. Satisfied it was okay, he waited for Brad to sample the food.
Brad’s eyes closed as he groaned, and his tongue slid out to catch the drip of juice that escaped. Martin couldn’t take his eyes off him as Brad’s tongue moved across his lips. The dulcet tones of Emeli Sande filled the silence with the words sticking in his mind. “Right now.” He couldn’t agree more.
Brad
Brad felt the temperature increase to balmy, or was it Martin’s kiss? Heat seemed to spread like a thousand fires when he thought about it. Hell, it was now imprinted on his soul, scorched into his memory banks.
Trying to distract himself, Brad picked up his fork, taking a mouthful. The taste exploded across his tongue. The chilli heat made his lips tingle as the flavours mixed with something earthier, coating his mouth. Groaning, he was sure he’d not tasted food like it before. He chased the juice dribbling along his chin when his eyes locked on Martin.
Brad swallowed past the lump in his throat as Martin’s stare tormented his overheated body. Moisture prickled, sliding down his back. Feverish, Brad pulled at the collar of his T-shirt. He attempted to break the connection.
The fork clattered as it hit the plate. Startled, Brad looked at the offending item. Grabbing it, again he shovelled the food into his mouth like there was no tomorrow.
Feeling something shift, he glanced under his eyelashes at Martin. He could almost see the light bulb above his head as question time flashed in neon lights. Brad braced himself for what was to come. He continued to eat, but the food now tasted like ash as his unease grew.
Brad jumped at the sound of Martin’s voice. The question didn’t register. Brad clutched his fork as if ready for battle. He lifted his gaze, imploring Martin not to ask the difficult questions.
Martin’s gentle tone did little to elevate his anxiety. “I have talked only about myself. You must be bored.” Martin smiling encouragement didn’t make it any better. “I just wanted to know a little about you. I have to say I didn’t even realise anyone lived in number three. It looked so uninviting, almost as if deserted.”
Fiddling with his glass, Brad wondered how to explain that was the point. “The outside is unimportant. Why would you want to draw attention? Nothing good comes from that.” His voice trailed off as he was not sure how to continue. “No one bothers you if your house doesn’t look lived in.”
His answer stabbed at the loneliness, the isolation he’d created out of his fear. Needing a distraction, he lifted his fork back to his mouth and focused on the wonderful flavours. He needed the recipe. Focusing back on the food and not the questions, Brad moaned in pleasure. He was mournful it was all gone. “Oh my God, that tasted so good. I need the recipe, man.”
Silence had him looking up. His throat constricted. He was glad he’d swallowed first, or he may have choked at Martin’s scorching look. Grabbing his wine, he drank deep. Eyes that appeared almost black gleamed at him, making the air stutter in his lungs.
Prey.
Was this how an animal felt, hunted? His excitement battled with his fear, unsure how his bodacious excitement won.
Brad licked his lips, tasting Martin’s dark and rich flavour. Like an addict, Brad craved his next hit, knowing an addict couldn’t want it
as much as he did in that moment. Brad babbled, fighting his needs, delaying what now seemed inevitable. “I inherited the house from my grandmother several years ago, and though I have done extensive renovations to it inside, I kind of like the house the way it looks from the outside. It reminds me of my grandmother. A bit of a fortress. Hard on the outside but warm and inviting on the in.” His words butted against each other, making him want to hide his face.
Music drifted between them, filling the silence. Rachel Platten sang about “a small boat on an ocean.” It was pretty much how he felt. Martin was an overpowering ocean rocking his world. The tension rode him hard, and Brad felt he could snap at any moment.
The loud scrape of the chair had him releasing his lip. His eyes danced towards the noise. Martin’s incendiary gaze had him think. They would explode at this rate. Brad’s hands dropped to his lap, clutching each other in panic. His chest burned as he struggled to pull in air.
Martin moved so fast his eyes blurred. Gripped by strong hands, he was hauled out of the chair. Their lips mashed together. Oh God, yes, more, more, more, his body practically sang. It was so grateful. Opening up for Martin, he felt like a sunflower, feeling the hot sun bathe it, helping it reach its full potential. His blood was thrumming, and Brad found his hips moving as if dancing to the beat of the music.
God, there was so much heat he could taste it. He wondered if it was the lingering taste of chilli. Brad couldn’t seem to find it in him to care, as it mixed with the rich dark flavour of Martin. Their tongues sensually stroked, eliciting excited moans from Brad.
A jungle gym sprung to mind as he climbed up. He wrapped his legs tight around Martin, frightened of losing his footing. He felt strong fingers knead his arse. He was unsure whether to push forward or back as strange sensations rocked through him. The sharp contrast of the cold chair hitting his back made him shiver. Clouded eyes tried to focus. “What?”
