Sex in C Major

"Not your best performance-"

"I'm not finished, Sir."

"What, you think you get to "

"No, Sir," Stefan interrupted, and cringed when he realised he'd done it. "I'm-I'm sorry, Sir. But a welcome involves all of the uses."

"Really."

"Yes, Sir."

Stefan crawled back over Daz's lap and bent his mouth to the spent cock. He didn't like cleaning it. Didn't like the sweet taste of himself or the slickness of it. But he was to welcome his master home, and his master liked to be clean.

So he sucked, bent low over his master's lap with his bare arse in the air. Cum was leaking down his thighs. His master's hand landed on one cheek and helped it, fingering Stefan almost idly. Stefan fought the distraction. He wouldn't be distracted. He wouldn't.

And, in time, four days without release told its story. The cock in his mouth began to swell again. When he began to lightly massage the balls beneath, it grew rapidly in Stefan's mouth, and then he rolled his throat, to coat it again in saliva.

This this was going to hurt.

Badly.

But the smirk on his master's face when Stefan rose to his knees and reached behind himself spurred him on. His own fingers were dry and awkward. They poked and probed, painful and alien. They shouldn't be there. It should be his master. But his master didn't move. So Stefan worked, face burning in embarrassment under the scrutiny, until he thought he could perhaps take the shaft demanding his attention.

He slung a leg over his master's lap and lowered himself to the head.

Paused.

Pushed.

The pain was immediate and intense. He closed his eyes and felt a cold sweat breaking out across his shoulders as the head breached him. It was too dry. Too big. And he couldn't relax on his knees like this. Couldn't open up. His arms shook on his master's shoulders-

Hands.

Dragging. He cried out as he was forced down. As that cock drove into him in one relentless push. As he was seated, opened and unable to close. As he felt his master's very heart beating inside of him.

"You're out of practice."

"Y-yes, Sir..."

"We'll have to open you up again."

"Y-yes, Sir."

"Does it hurt?"

Stefan nodded.

The world tipped. The cock inside of him was pulled free and he sobbed at the emptiness. At the softness of the mattress.

Then breathed-cold, wonderful air-as a hand slapped his thighs apart, and then a great weight bore down on his hips.

Lips brushed his ears.

"Scream for me."

And then-

Stefan screamed. Scratched great gouges into his master's shoulders. Howled, then gasped in silence as the air was driven from his lungs by the second stroke. The headboard slammed. And then he was being fucked, fucked raw and fucked bloody, in deep and powerful thrusts. As he was no longer free to roam the house and road. As he was put back in his place, and used.

As that great cock ruined him, and his body yielded as though remembering.

Relaxed.

Opened.

The pain lessened. His back arched. He began to thrust back without thinking. Began to absorb. Moaned when teeth found his nipple through his T-shirt and bit down hard enough to bruise. As wetness said the bruise had broken through. As hands held his hips, and he held his own legs open.

And only when the hot rush of his master's completion filled him again was the pressure released.

And Stefan was turned onto his front. His legs held open.

And the first touch of that rough tongue on his leaking arse made him come undone.

Surrounded by dirty clothes, leaking cum, the taste of his own arousal heavy on his tongue, Stefan came so hard he could feel his body's pleasure from a thousand miles away.

And time itself flexed.

It didn't skip exactly. It didn't run away.

But from that thousand-mile distance, he felt himself cleaned. Then felt himself dried with a dirty T-shirt, and was only roused by the stinging slap delivered to one arse-cheek.

"Put some clothes on. Yannis won't want you in the kitchen like that."

"Y-yes, Sir..."

His limbs shook as he pushed himself up and crawled off the bed. Found a new T-shirt without the bloodstain on the left nipple. Found sweatpants. No underwear.

"Should I put the belt back on?" he mumbled.

Daz laughed. He heard a zip, then his fully-dressed owner caught his chin and kissed him. It was short but gentle, and Stefan shrugged away from the affectionate gesture with an eye roll.

Daz only laughed again at the display, and Stefan's stomach warmed with an entirely different kind of happiness.

Happiness.

"Thank you," he whispered.

"What?" Daz asked.

Stefan licked his lips. "I-thank you. For...this. Everything."

"Everything?"

"I'm happy."

Daz gave him a funny look. "Good?"

"Yeah."

"What brought that on?"

Stefan shrugged, fidgeting with the hem of the T-shirt.

"I don't know," he said eventually. "I guess I've been figuring things out."

"What kind of things?"

"Me things."

Daz held up both hands. The master was gone. The haphazard boyfriend-Yannis' Darian-was back. "Am I qualified to have this conversation?"

Stefan laughed. "I think after me and Yannis, yes."

"No, seriously, that's a no. Yannis still bitches about shit I don't get. Like why the hell would anyone hate-"

"Not that," Stefan said.

"Then what?"

"I'm-he."

Daz swung his legs off the edge of the bed and leaned forward. Propped his elbows on his knees.

Peered up at Stefan's face, those cool blue eyes studying every inch.

"I thought you knew that."

"I did. But I'm he, and I like what I like, and I'm still he."

"You lost me."

That dark hair, those blue eyes-that face that could be so terrifying and so soft by just a tiny shift of movement...

And downstairs, a pan banged. The man whose severe countenance made Stefan's heart flutter just like Daz made his knees weak. They were both here. Home. With him.

Him.

"I want this," Stefan said breathlessly. "I want your orders. Want your ownership. And it doesn't make me any different. I'm a sub. And I'm a man. And so what."

Daz paused.

"I get it now," Stefan said. "And I want it. I want you to love Yannis. I want to kind of adore him a little bit myself. But I need you both to own me more than I need you to love me. I'm what Yannis said."

"Aromantic?"

"Yeah. I'm aromantic, and I'm gay, and I'm a sub, and I'm a man. And I'm Stefan. It's all me."

Daz said nothing.

"And I think I finally get it. And I'm okay."

Daz's hand pulled away, and a kiss landed at the corner of Stefan's mouth. Cool. Perfunctory.

Just what Stefan needed.

"Leave the belt," he said, the low rumble of a dominant audible.

Stefan shivered.

"I'm going to be wanting access to that again after dinner. But put your sweatpants on."

Stefan's tired cock shivered in anticipation, not helped by the hand that squeezed one cheek once he'd pulled the demanded clothes into place, then propelled him towards the landing. He went downstairs on shaky knees-only to be stopped in the hall, his trainers put in front of him.

And the front door opened.

"Sir?"

"I have a name."

Stefan blinked at the front garden, bathed in evening sun. At the narrow street of terraced houses.

And then at his shoes.

"You can go," Daz said calmly, "if you want."

Stefan stared at the open door.

At his shoes.

At his sweatpants and T-shirt. No belt. No toys.

He could put his shoes on and just-go.

"Why would I want to go?" he asked.

Daz said nothing.

Yannis was banging pans in the kitchen. Constantinople was washing himself on the stairs. And Stefan's shoes sat between him and Daz, right in front of the wide open door.

Slowly, he pushed one foot into a shoe.

Then the other.

And said, "Do you have a couple of quid?"

"What?" Daz asked.

"A couple of quid." He lowered his voice. "I finished the biscuits, and you know Yannis won't like it if we're out. So I'm going to go to the corner shop and get more."

A slow smile spread across Daz's face.

Then he stuck his hand in his pocket. Rummaged. Produced a fiver, and held it out between them like a ticket.

And said, "Nab a tub of ice-cream as well. The stuff they had in the hotel was shit."

Stefan took it—and walked out.

The front door closed behind him, and for a moment he simply stood on the lawn, alone. No tracking device. No belt or toys.

Just him in his sweatpants, with a fiver in his hand.

And his feet went on autopilot. To the shop. To the right aisles. Made small talk with the man at the counter. Turned round. Walked home.

Home.