Sex in C Major

Like a hand.

He didn't remember anything beyond asking for the more, and the dazed, slow progress of his thoughts said that he must have spaced. He couldn't feel if Daz had come. Could feel a low, sweet satisfaction that said Stefan had come, but his owner?

He stirred a little. Clutched at the denim under his cheek. He should he ought to

The thigh shifted. A hand dropped to the blanket that had been draped over Stefan's body, and rubbed.

"Ssh," a deep voice mumbled, clearly mostly asleep itself. "S'alright. Safe."

Stefan blinked, lids heavy, and settled.

He could...

He could make up for it in the morning, couldn't he?

The hand settled in his shorn hair. Rubbed. It was soothing. Comforting.

"Safe," Stefan echoed in a whisper that dissolved into the quiet, dark room.

He tugged the blanket up closer to his face, settled his bound hands back under his cheek, and closed his eyes.

Safe. 40

When Stefan woke again, he was alone.

He was still lying on the sofa in the living room, but Daz had gone, and the cloth strips had been removed.

But as Stefan stretched and sat up, he realised being unbound didn't mean he was free.

The key, perpetually stuck in the back door, had gone. The window was padlocked shut. And the living room door was closed, a note taped to the painted wood.

The house was silent. Still.

Somehow, Stefan could sense he was alone...yet, just in case, he slipped off the leather cushions and crawled across the floor to stretch up for the note, and try the handle.

It turned, but the door didn't budge.

The note was Yannis' scrawl-simply gone to class, Darian at a friend's, back later-and Stefan bit his lip as he carefully taped it back up. His stomach felt tense and anxious. He was locked in. They'd left him-and that had to be an improvement, right?-but they'd locked him in. How long would they be gone? What if he needed the bathroom? Were there cameras in here? Was it just being locked in, or was Daz playing some kind of game with him?

Kneeling by the door, Stefan fidgeted. Unsure. Dithering.

Waiting had never been Stefan's strong point, and Daz hadn't been helping with that weakness. The idea of simply sitting here and waiting, with no watch or clock to tell him much time had passed, was maddening, and so Stefan turned to crawl back to the carpet. Why was he even crawling? He could stand up. Daz only made him crawl for games. He was allowed to walk, for God's sake.

Yet...he didn't.

But the sofa was even worse than the door, for Stefan was wide awake now, and the smell of Daz's cologne was lingering on the leather, along with the fading smell of sex. Stefan's dick twitched at the memory of that messy fuck. His neck still tingled. And his stomach clenched and cringed at the echo of the wet sound of his own ejaculation. Christ, Stefan hadn't even known he could do that.

And yet-

Daz had loved it. And Daz's response to it had been amazing.

Stefan swallowed dryly as the prickling feeling of swelling began to taunt him. Fuck, he wanted to do it again. The squeak of the leather and the messy, hot feeling of being fucked with his own lube. It had been intense, somehow more intense than being tied up and tortured. The weight, the crushing proximity, the scrape of Daz's chest hair on his-

Stefan blinked when he found himself rubbing idly at his cock.

They'd-they'd not put him in the belt.

They'd left the belt off.

He could-

His eyes strayed to the piano. The keyboard had been packed away, but the piano...

They'd not know.

Sir wouldn't know.

In a flash, Stefan was up off the sofa again and at the piano. The lid was heavy. The keys were cool and light. They felt almost floaty when he stroked them, like ivory hovering over raw power

When he pressed down, the boom of a deep C shuddered in the air.

And in Stefan's blood.

God, it was like an aphrodisiac. He felt it more than he heard it. It wasn't as powerful, as merciless, as the double bass, but in the silence of the house, with the echo of the keyboard kisses on his dirty skin, it was more than enough.

His dick swelled under his fingers.

Stefan whimpered as he began to rub himself against the edge of the piano, thrusting against the wood in time to tiny experiments on the notes. Little tunes. They rippled in the air, high and sweet, and his own gasps joined them as he rutted. God, where would this end? Would he be reduced to fucking every time he heard music? If Yannis practised, would Daz take him on the floor? Maybe it wouldn't just be that symphony, those repeated bars, but all music. Entire instruments. Would they take him to concerts and torment him amongst hundreds in the audience?

The image blossomed in Stefan's mind-being fucked in a private box while hundreds of people watched a world-class bassist only feet away-and he came with a gasp, his free hand crashing down on the keys.