Sex in C Major

Finish your drink. Go to the toilet. The far one. Strip and get on your knees. You have exactly eight minutes. Safeword is checkmate.

Stefan took a shaky breath and abandoned the tea. Fuck the drink. He didn't want it anyway.

The toilets were downstairs, two unisex bathrooms. He had to wait for the far one. He was already breathing too hard when he let himself into it and locked the door. His hands were shaking as he stripped. He hesitated over the binder, but that eventually went, too, Stefan closing his eyes so he didn't have to look at what was under it. The bathroom was cold, and the tiles under his knees dirty and too hard. But he didn't dare kneel on his coat-Daz hadn't said he could.

Then...he waited.

And waited.

And waited.

There was no clock, but he could imagine the ticking. His heart was pounding. All the blood in his body was trying to crowd into his dick, but he didn't dare touch himself. Daz would know if he did. Somehow. And he'd not said Stefan could do that. He'd

Knuckles rapped on the door.

Stefan held his breath. How-how did he know if-

"Hey? Anybody in there?"

Daz's voice. Stefan shuffled forward on his knees and reached up to release the lock. He crawled back barely in time to avoid being hit in the face by the door.

"Get on with it, then."

Stefan swallowed. "Sir?"

Daz gestured at his jeans. "You wanted dick. Get it out."

Stefan hesitated, then reached up. Daz was wearing a belt, and Stefan fumbled awkwardly with it. The zip was stiff, and he had to tug the denim down a little to cup the soft weight hidden in Daz's briefs.

"Get it out, don't fondle it."

"Yes, Sir."

The briefs had no opening, and Stefan had to pull those down, too. Then he stared. Daz's cock was soft, shorter than Stefan had thought but thicker, too. It was hot and silky when he touched it, and swelled under his fingers like it was alive when he wrapped a hand around it and began to stroke clumsily.

"Hands on my knees."

"What?"

Daz pulled his hair sharply.

"S-sorry. Sorry, Sir."

"Hands. On my knees."

Stefan hesitantly clasped his hands on the outsides of Daz's knees then gasped as his head was wrenched by the hair again, jerked forward until his lips kissed the half-hard cock in front of him.

"Get on with it."

Carefully, Stefan opened his mouth and slid his lips down over the head. He could smell sex and sweat and Daz. Breathing was suddenly this wet, awkward thing, and he strained to fill his lungs through his nose. Saliva was pooling at the back of his mouth-but when he tried to swallow, his tongue rasped against the intrusion and he coughed.

"Never sucked someone off before?"

Stefan pulled back, lifting a hand to wipe at his lips-and choked, coughing again, when Daz's hand caught at the back of his neck and that now-rigid dick was shoved hard against the back of his mouth.

"I say when you get to stop, not you."

Stefan whimpered, hands fisting in Daz's jeans. He could feel spit leaking out over his lips and chin. The hot silk in his mouth was overwhelming. His jaw was straining, and tears were blurring his vision. He couldn't do this. He couldn't- "Key part of sucking someone off is in the name. Suck."

Stefan raked a breath in through his nose, and struggled to close his lips. The shaft was burning hot, a pulse hammering against his mouth. He could feel a vein against his lower lip, and tried to concentrate on that. Something bitter lingered at the back of his tongue, but the skin itself was sweeter. Slowly, he drew back to the head, dragging his lips along Daz's cock as if to clean it off, then pushed forward.

"Better."

This this was okay. He could do this. He repeated the action again, then a third time, and curled his fingers against Daz's knees. This was good. This felt good.

Until he tried to draw back again, and the hand on his neck stopped him. And pushed. Further. Stefan choked as the head hit the back of his throat, his stomach turning alarmingly for a brief moment. His nose was pushed against Daz's skin, that cock forcing his throat open, so deep Stefan couldn't do anything but breathe in tiny, desperate bursts. Then his hair was held in a tight fist and Daz was thrusting into his mouth.

"I haven't time for a stage performance," Daz muttered. "You can practice later."

The thrusting hurt. That cock was too big, too hard. Stefan's lips felt bruised, and his jaw hurt from being stretched so wide. He wanted to fight, to lash out, to reject the intruder-but he wanted to relax, to submit, to do well.