Play It Again, Charlie (49 page)

Charlie didn't see why that was so hard to believe and scowled over his embarrassment. “I've played with cuffs, of course.”

“Of course.” Will snorted his amusement, then paused. His gaze swept over Charlie again, lingering this time before he twisted his wrists together in front of him. A second later he did it again with his hands behind his back. Charlie realized what he was imagining when Will stretched his hands up over his head and stared right at him while breathing hard.

Then he wrinkled his nose and dropped his arms. “Oh, with
Mark
?” He was practically sneering. “I could be better,” he muttered a moment later, but he shut up when Charlie gave him an irritated look. The silence lasted about two seconds.

“Well, that got to you. I like that.” Will said it like he honestly thought he hadn't gotten to Charlie already. “You get that strong, fierce, rock-hard look about you.”

Charlie dropped his head to glare at the floor, then that damn bed again.

“And what if I'm not?” He meant strong; of course that wasn't how Will took it.

“What if you're not what?” Will grinned as he came forward. “Are you kidding?” He looked like he was about to touch Charlie's chest, but instead his hand slid down toward his crotch. Charlie caught his wrist, and Will looked up, startled.

Charlie tried to keep everything off his face, but he wasn't sure it worked.

“Are you mad?” Will didn't pull his hand back, but he kept his gaze up. “Tell me.”

“I'm not like that.” It came out rough.

“Like Grayson?” Will was momentarily frozen, confused and misunderstanding him, but then he was in motion before Charlie could explain. He pulled his hand away, but to gesture like he was testifying. “I'm torn between a
duh
, and a
thank you, Jesus
!”

“What?” Charlie glanced at him and scowled before staring at the bed again, and Will shook his head.

“Like I'd sleep with Grayson, ew. Give me some credit. What do you mean you aren't like him? You aren't kidding, are you? Of course not, you're
always serious
.” Will's mockery was possibly what Charlie deserved, but when he didn't say anything Will squared his shoulders and bit out words with a disdain that would have done Bette proud. “Do you know what I want, Charlie? That's a neat trick.”

Will sat on the bed and then leaned back onto one elbow. His jeans were wide open at the fly, offering Charlie another glimpse of the underwear Will had borrowed from him.

“So what is it I want, Professor?” Will asked slowly, perfectly aware of how sexy he was.

For another moment Charlie studied Will in the shifting Technicolor, the way he was lying. When his face and body were hot, when he had Will naked in his mind, speechless and listening, he pulled in a breath and squared his shoulders.

“You want me to spank you,” he stated with surprising calm. One of Will's hands left the bed in what looked like an involuntary gesture, then came back down to curl in the bedding. Charlie swallowed.

“Yes, I do, Professor,” Will agreed, staring up with eyes more closed than open. Charlie wet his mouth. He got the impression Will's gaze was intent on him, though he couldn't be sure. “And you've been thinking about it.”

“Yes.” Charlie gave one small shake of his head, couldn't seem to move beyond that. He wanted to say, “Stop calling me that,” but he couldn't seem to.

Will's eyes opened, all mischief and seduction, when Charlie shivered involuntarily. Charlie straightened and had to clear his throat. His face was stinging, his mouth dry despite his efforts.

“What was the verdict?” Will said quietly, then he turned his head to the side.

Charlie didn't hand out rulings, or give orders for that matter. Will wasn't a child or someone in trouble. Jeanine had said he was bossy, but Charlie knew for a fact no one ever listened to him. Will just... Will just looked like he wanted to.

When Charlie didn't speak, Will angled his head to the side, giving Charlie a view of his throat.

“What do you think of what I do for a living, Charlie? How I do it? With strangers, sometimes from the Internet?” he explained at Charlie's confused silence, and Charlie made a noise.

“It's not safe.” He was flushed, dizzy at just Will sitting on that bed, offering him something like this, but he kept his voice level.

Will just rolled one hand. “And?”

“You shouldn't do it.” It was dragged from him, and this time anger slipped into his tone. He didn't need to be mocked for worrying.

“And?”

“
Will.
” It made Will sit up and turn to look directly at him. His mouth opened, and only then did Charlie realize that he had done that, with just his voice and Will's name. Will was listening now, with all of his attention.

“Yes, Charlie?” Will was a little too breathless to pretend he was still teasing. Charlie shook his head. His heart was pounding in his ears.

And I don't want you to do it.
Not that he had any right to say such a thing. “I wouldn't like to see anything happen to you,” he substituted, but the rest came out anyway. “And I don't want you to.” He inhaled, nearly drowning out the sound of Will doing the same. “Not that what you want is up to me.”

“What I want,” Will repeated softly, taunting him, he had to be. “And, again I ask it, what does Charlie want?”

“You.” That was damn obvious and, in this context, safe to admit to. Will gasped again anyway.

“God, talking with you is intense, Charlie. Fuck.” Will moved and Charlie stepped forward with one hand up, but Will stayed on the bed. “You can get me off from voice command alone.”

Suddenly Charlie wanted that again too. Will threw his head back to stare at the ceiling. His chest was moving fast, his voice like phone sex.

Will was so open about being turned on. Charlie was the one flushing and coming forward, torn between slapping a hand over Will's mouth and telling him to keep going. Will kept going anyway. “Just tell me. Talk about anything. This place. This room. Grayson.”

It was tension that had Charlie still again, almost shaking with need and humiliation and traces of anger. He tried, but he couldn't stop the growl of protest that he attempted to shape into Will's name.

“Will.”

“Does that mean you don't like Grayson, but you won't say it?” Will was reading his mind and yet was still saying that name.

“I don't like Grayson.” Another time, another moment, Charlie might have lifted an eyebrow, but as it was he only grateful that he was on his feet and his voice was by some miracle calm and smooth.

Will's went rough.

“Oh, God, Charlie. More.” He slid a hand to his lap, and it was enough to push Charlie forward those last inches. Will's eyes met his, but he didn't move his hand. Will was tormenting him, using his painfully obvious jealousy to goad him.

His shoes bumped Will's bare feet, and Will blinked up at him before flashing a small smile. Charlie wanted to open his mouth and promise to protect Will, to be that and to protect him and to make him feel good.

“Will,” he said again, and Will slid forward, moved until his breath was hot against Charlie's stomach.

“Charlie,” Will whispered. His fingers were petting, tugging at Charlie's shirt without pulling it loose, and he took his gaze away to watch as he freed a button. “Do you want me?”

The question was unbelievable, and he couldn't focus, not with Will finally baring skin and all his blood flooding down to his cock.

“Of course.” It was too quiet. Will shivered but didn't stop.

“Do you? What do you want? My mouth? My hands?” His hands rested at Charlie's ribs, then slid down and away. “Do you want to fuck me?” Will's voice trembled, and Charlie didn't understand why.

“Will, I... .” He shook his head, but Will couldn't see. Will's hair was sleek between his fingers, and Charlie used it to urge Will's head back, and Christ, it made Will's lips part. He looked up with a startled relief Charlie could see even in the near dark.

He swallowed, but it was too late to hold the rest back.

“No.” He said it firmly, but quickly, so Will wouldn't misunderstand. “No, it wouldn't be that.” Will couldn't miss what this was doing to him. “It would be more than that.”

The jolt down Will's back was stronger than a shiver, and then he leaned his head back into Charlie's hand, leaving his throat bare and his mouth open. As though somehow, somehow, Charlie had said the right thing.

For a second or two he couldn't think. He was hot, but, God, so was Will. He slid his hand to Will's cheek, let his thumb touch the edge of his mouth.

“Right,” Will agreed, “because you're Charlie.” The way Will said his name, like no one else, sticky sweet and caught in his throat, made Charlie bend down and push forward until Will's mouth was under his and that
Charlie
was against his lips.

“I'm not Grayson,” Charlie said again, stupidly, insisted once their mouths were apart and he could breathe, and Will blinked, his expression flickering from turned on to amused and then back to turned on. He lifted his chin, then brushed a kiss across Charlie's lips.

“Prove it.”

“Yes.” He wasn't sure why he said it, but his hands were against Will's clean, scrubbed skin, wide-open pores, and all of Will was open, his mouth, his legs, open and shivering with every shared breath. Charlie wanted that, and the sound of his name, his name, in this damn apartment, on this bed. “Yes, just tell me... .” He turned his head, put his mouth to Will's cheek, and let his hands slide to Will's shoulders, his back.

Will brought his arms up to tug at Charlie's shirt. It left the small of his back exposed, and he spoke again when Charlie's hands found the bare skin: “I need to know what you want, Charlie.” He offered no resistance when Charlie's fingers pulled at his T-shirt, wandered to his stomach, then back to his spine, though he arched at that, moaned for all that he also tried to pout.

“Please, Charlie, what do you... ?” His breath was too warm, too shocked, when Charlie shook his head and pulled at his T-shirt. Will left his arms up, leaned back for Charlie to get his shirt up to his shoulders, and shot him a quick look.

“Here, now, in this very bed?” he wondered with false innocence. “In
Grayson's
bed?” At the deliberate use of that name, Charlie stepped back, taking Will's shirt part of the way with him.

“As though that isn't what you wanted.” Charlie was frozen for the same moment Will was. His voice was only reasonable because Will's face was hidden by the thin, stretched fabric of his T-shirt. Will could have slid out of it, but he seemed just as taken aback.

“Charlie?” His tone was uncertain, lost, as though one T-shirt had left him helpless, and Charlie answered without thinking, stepping back to run his hands over Will's chest. The skin was hot, probably pink and sensitive from waxing, and Will sucked in a breath. But he didn't protest, just moved his head, shook it until Charlie recalled himself and pushed the shirt up over his mouth and the end of his nose, to let him breathe better, to hear what it was Will was mumbling.

“Hurts a little.” But he drew in another breath when Charlie removed his hands. “Don't stop.”

“Will.” He wondered if this was easier if he couldn't see the dare in Will's eyes, the laughter. “Will, I won't hurt you.” But his hands unfurled on raw skin, his palms rubbing over Will's nipples until they were hard and Will's words were stuttering out. Will still hadn't removed the T-shirt. His shoulders would get sore if he stayed that way, not that Will seemed to mind a little pain.

“And if I want you to?” Will shifted on the bed, scooting forward to make it very clear that he wanted Charlie's hands to stay where they were. “If I let you? If I say it's okay?” His voice rose unevenly when Charlie's hands tightened. “If I beg you to?”

“Will— ”

“You like that.” Will was reading his mind again, or just his body. Charlie inched forward, stared down when Will wet his lips. “I do too.” Will was blind, openmouthed, begging. Charlie used his thumbs, and Will made that sound that meant he wanted more and didn't care where he was. “Please.”

As though Charlie had any way of resisting that. He slid a hand to Will's back, left the other at his chest, and pushed him down, catching him before he could truly fall. Then he stared for a minute at the nearly naked body stretched out over Grayson's black sheets, the arms trapped above his head, the loose jeans at his hips.

When he exhaled, Will's head turned toward the sound. “Charlie?” It slipped out, almost nervous, but Charlie bent to seek it out, somehow gratified at how Will accepted the kiss, how Will shifted up to move against him and panted as Charlie pulled away and put his hands back over his chest.

“I have to say, Professor, I'm surprised.” It could have been a joke. Without seeing his whole expression Charlie couldn't tell, and at the thought he pulled the shirt higher, up and off Will's face, surprising Will again, judging from his wide eyes. “Oh,” he added, evidently seeing something in Charlie's face, hovering over his and so very close.

Charlie's hands slid from Will's chest and hit the bed. Silky, sinful, ridiculous sheets, soft between his fingers. This was the bed Will left to come to his, at least for now.

He frowned and bent his head. He let his teeth graze one nipple, then wasn't sure whether to blush or groan at Will's instant response. When he bit down, gently, carefully, Will's voice rose. “Oh
you magnificent bastard
! You sexy fuck!”

His chest felt tight just listening to Will. Charlie bit the other nipple, drew it between his teeth until he knew it had to hurt, then swiped it with his tongue before letting go.

“Why?” He curled his hands, but let his mouth wander, using his teeth on flushed, raw skin, making Will's back curve up from the bed. Will's mouth was open, his cheeks dark.

“Why what? Why do I like this?” Will shifted again, rolling up toward his mouth and making a hurt noise only when Charlie turned to deny him. Another bite, slow but not as tentative, over the already peaked, already sore skin of his nipple brought him back up, had him babbling. “That's it. Like that.”