Games Boys Play (34 page)

“I know. I was never afraid of that.”

“I hate you.”

“Are you gonna jack off for me, or are we going to talk at each other all night?”

“I need that lube.”

“So get that lube.”

As he leaned across Dylan, Dylan’s face was right there. His mouth. Brian stopped with a hand on the edge of the nightstand and kissed him, lingering, teasing with his tongue, taking advantage of the fact that Dylan wasn’t about to sit up quickly and grab him. He hovered just above Dylan’s mouth, smiling, watching Dylan tilt his chin up, trying to reach. Licked Dylan’s lower lip. Touching tongues with him. Pushing his mouth against Dylan’s to stretch his tongue inside.

He fumbled for the drawer pull, got the drawer open. Put his hand in and realized it was full of he didn’t know what. He drew away from Dylan’s mouth, Dylan’s head lifting from the pillow to try to stay with him, but he couldn’t kiss and rummage at the same time. He turned on the lamp. Dylan dropped his head and put a hand across his eyes.

The pressure in his balls, from his thigh against Dylan’s other hand, which had found them again, brought his attention back to his search for something to ease the friction of rubbing his cock with his bare hand. The familiar blue cover of a jar of Vaseline sat near the front corner of the drawer. He plucked it out and dropped onto his back, leaving the light on as he scooped two fingers through the grease and applied it to his cock.

“You see that?” Brian pushed it up straight.

Dylan, with his hand shielding his eyes, said, “I see that.”

“That’s all for you.”

“It’s funny—I think I have a matching piece. Well, not quite matching but close enough.”

Brian grinned. “Let’s see how close.” He drew the sheet down from Dylan’s hips, revealing the dusky head lying toward Brian, the paler shaft disappearing into Dylan’s dark thicket of hair. “I don’t know,” Brian said. “I think they’re different colors.”

“A little.”

Brian shifted onto his side, holding his cock out and touching its head to Dylan’s, then sliding up over the curve of it and back down, through the slick glisten of precum.

“I’m surprised it has the energy to get up,” Dylan said.

“Tell me some more about this ‘being paralyzed’ stuff,” Brian said, one hand gripping his shaft while he shuffled his body down the mattress until his tongue was close enough to flick at Dylan’s cock.

“I should probably test to make sure the drug’s taken effect before I start casting you. Let’s see… How could I test that you’re really paralyzed and not just faking it?”

Of course, whatever test Dylan came up with, Brian knew he’d have to fight his urge to react, because he
would
be faking it. He closed his lips over the head of Dylan’s cock and swirled his tongue around it, like the first inch or so of a Fudgsicle, while he stroked his own cock, his thumb dragging over the head each time he brought his fist back down.

“I could do it with a cigarette,” Dylan said. “Light it up, get the cherry good and hot, slowly lower it down toward… What would you be most likely to try to protect? Your nipples? I could lower it slowly toward one of your nipples.” He pushed his hand into Brian’s hair. Brian took more of Dylan’s cock into his mouth, sucking on it, as Dylan said, “Lower and lower and lower—” His voice got softer, rougher, with each repetition. “Till you started to feel the heat. You’re paralyzed, not anesthetized. You could feel everything I did to you. And you’d feel the heat coming off the cigarette, so close to your skin.” Dylan’s cock hit the back of Brian’s throat, and Brian groaned softly at both the fullness in his mouth and the imagery of Dylan’s words. The nerves in his nipples were awake and alert even though nothing was touching them. He yearned to rub against something.

“I’d see the panic in your eyes, the desperation as you fought against the drug and tried with every cell in your body to will your muscles to move, and then I’d lift the cigarette and take a drag, watching you, watching the relief in your eyes, the gratitude for not burning you with it.”

Brian sucked harder, faster, keeping time on his own cock, his grip hard, his hips moving in a slow grind of need.

“I’d smoke that cigarette while I caressed your body, running my fingers over your legs, your stomach, your neck. Your lips. I’d push my fingers in your mouth, and you’d take it—”

Brian took Dylan’s cock as far as he could, choking against it with a soft sound of desperation.

“—because you wouldn’t be able to do anything to stop it. I’d fuck your mouth with my hand, watching your eyes tear when I pushed into your throat.”

Brian’s fist pounded against his body as he fucked his hand.

Dylan’s fingers held his head, keeping him from pulling fully off his cock—not that he was trying.

He made a “hmph” sound around Dylan’s cock, his toes digging against the mattress.

“I’d fuck your mouth with mine, pushing my tongue inside, licking all over the inside of your mouth. Maybe you’d wish you could kiss back, but you wouldn’t be able to.”

His throat muscles spasmed as Dylan’s cock triggered a gag reflex.

His balls ached with need.

“Then I’d pull away and start setting up the casting materials,” Dylan said, massaging Brian’s scalp, “telling you what I was going to do, how helpless you were going to be once the casts hardened.”

Brian intentionally hit the gag spot again, coughing with the spasm, his hand working faster and harder.

“I’d start wrapping your foot with the padding, all of it except the tips of your toes, moving up your leg. I’d start right in on casting it then so it could be hardening while I did your other leg, so you could stare at it going all the way up your leg, encasing it, growing rigid—thinking about how trapped you’d be once all your limbs were locked in the casts.”

Brian gagged again—this time not on purpose—as he came into his fist, making helpless, desperate noises, his toes digging against the mattress. He finished as quickly as he could, already aching for more, and grasped Dylan’s cock with the hand he’d been using on himself, smelling his spunk on that hand, his smell mixed in with Dylan’s.

“You’d lie there wondering how much you’d be able to move your leg, wiggle your toes,” Dylan said, picking up where he’d left off, his voice huskier. “But you wouldn’t be able to find out. All you’d be able to do”—he grasped Brian’s hair again; his hips jerked a little, thrusting up toward Brian’s mouth—“is lie there and watch me immobilize your other leg.” Brian sucked and stroked, grinding his hips against the mattress, his body spent but still turned on.

“Then I’d start on your arm, padding from your knuckles all the way—” His voice hitched. “All the—
Fuck
.” He dug his fingers against Brian’s scalp. Brian moved his hand out of the way, taking Dylan’s cock as far as he could handle without gagging.

“I’m gonna come.”

Brian closed his lips tighter and worked faster. A salty warmth exploded on his tongue, slipping along Dylan’s shaft, slipping past his lips as he continued bobbing on Dylan’s cock, as Dylan’s hips spasmed and more seed spilled, dribbling from the corners of Brian’s mouth.

Another spasm went through Dylan as Brian rested his face against Dylan’s thigh and licked the saltiness from his cock.

Dylan’s fingers, still in his hair, relaxed.

“Hey. Do you think you’d be here right now if it hadn’t been for the accident?” Dylan asked.

“Nope. I’d be out, butt hurt and drinking. Or alone in my apartment, butt hurt and drinking and making a list of musicians I could play with.” He pushed back up the bed, cupping Dylan’s cock in one hand. “I’d like to think I would have come around eventually.”

“I hope so.”

“Think you can sleep now?”

“Maybe. Maybe when I close my eyes, I’ll see things I could do to you instead of replaying that crash over and over. It’s worth a fucking try anyway.” Smiling, Dylan reached for the lamp. With a
click
, the room went dark.

Brian settled his head on the pillow and closed his eyes, his fingers lightly resting against Dylan’s side.

Dylan put his hand back in Brian’s hair, his touch light. In the darkness, he said, “I’m gonna own you.” His hand closed, tugging. “I’m gonna own the fuck out of you.”

“Tomorrow. Tonight I’m about to pass out.”

“Tomorrow,” Dylan said.

* * * *

When Brian opened his eyes ten minutes or two hours later, Dylan was still there, snoring softly beside him.

He was still there too, and it felt all right. It felt like the right place to be.

It felt less like a secret, Brian thought, the two of them keeping it together.

At the same time, they suddenly had a lot more to hide than when they’d each had their own secrets.

Aunt Patty would kill us.

He rolled onto his side, tendrils of Dylan’s hair tickling his face. He pressed in closer, into the coolness of that hair, and closed his eyes, his fingertips still in contact with Dylan’s skin.

This, he felt as sleep pressed heavy on him again, was a risk worth taking. Because so far in his life…nothing else had ever come close to this.

Zoe X. Rider

Zoe X. Rider writes erotic fiction, chases bands from one small, dark venue to another, and likes to lose herself in books. Her other hobby is eating. Her favorite foods include Milky Way candy bars, collard greens, NY strip steak with butter, Cadbury Mini Eggs (why are they only available at Easter?), and rum milkshakes. (Milkshakes are a food, right?)