Bad Things (19 page)

This time Xavier let himself chuckle. “Looks like you and your dick are having a difference of opinion. Again.”

It couldn’t have been pointing at the ceiling any more eagerly.

“You’re not going to American Pie that casserole as soon as I leave you alone with it, are you?”

Ai,
pobrecito
didn’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed at being abandoned, unmolested. More or less.

“
Now, now. No hurt feelings. I would have loved to help you out with that. But you broke the rules. And I don’t reward bad behavior.”

Xavier freed one wrist, and left him. And except for two brief visits to let Carson use to toilet, and brush his teeth, Xavier forced himself to leave him alone the rest of the night.

So it was frankly disappointing to find Carson with a limp dick the next morning, when Xavier went down for his workout. Although he was displaying obediently, creating the pleasant illusion that he was waiting, practically begging to be fucked. And Xavier was almost sure the red cutoff sweats he was wearing would trigger some kind of fetish response in his guest. An involuntary reaction to the memory of that morning—just a few days but a whole lifetime earlier—when Carson has let himself succumb to (or failed to escape) a first visceral response to Xavier’s body.

Even if he was still bracing himself against the regret for all that couldn’t be because of what had to be, Xavier couldn’t help laughing to himself at the way Carson turned his head away when Xavier stripped off his T-shirt. Just to warm up, Xavier did a few light reps on the horizontal bar, working his arms and abs before working the heavy bag.

Now and then, a furtive glance from Carson, but mostly he was pretending not to be watching. So maybe it was the sound of Xavier’s exertions—his heavy breathing, the occasional grunt as he pushed himself through the last reps in a set, as he pummeled the heavy bag—that had Carson flushing. Then squirming. That little by little were provoking that slow swelling in Carson’s cock.

Before he’d started in on the bag, he hadn’t realized how fucking pent up he’d felt. Not being able to let Carson go. Not being able to fuck him. All the hate he’d been swallowing, anger at Max and the others. That impotent rage that surged through him like poison every time the sounds and images from the video leaked back into his consciousness.

But now, he was punishing the bag for all of it. That hurt look Carson had given him when he realized that even after that impossible, gravity-altering kiss, he wasn’t going to let him go. That girl’s convulsive sobs and screams as the cherry of Max’s cigarette ate into her flesh. The smug pleasure of the men in Gomorrah as they recited their future crimes, gloating and giggling over their cocktails.

Punching. Kicking. Assaulting the bag with the full force of his rage-fueled body. Lungs greedy for oxygen, muscles contracting, limbs slicing through the air, fist compressing, arm jolting with each brutal impact. Heart pounding big and efficient in his chest. The caress of sweat sliding down his face, down his neck, down his naked torso.

And Carson.
Jesus Cristo
. Harder every time Xavier looked over at him. By the time Xavier finished his routine at the bag, Carson’s dick was obscenely engorged, ruddy, and aiming for heaven. Which of course had the blood in Xavier’s pumped and heated body flowing straight to his groin.

Well, that was enough of the damned punching bag. Xavier was ready for something that would react to the impact of his body. When he walked toward him, Carson’s breathing escalated, but, hell, he didn’t turn away or pretend he hadn’t been looking. He met Xavier’s eyes for a second or two, then looked him over as brazenly as any lover ever had, gaze finally settling on his cock—not quite at half-mast—as if he’d been fucking hypnotized.

“What? Didn’t you get a good enough look in the shower yesterday?”

He’d seen that expression before. A video of his friend Juan the second before he’d found his courage and jumped from the plane his first time skydiving. Just barely, Carson shook his head. God damned delicious, being this surprised.

Xavier stepped forward, planting his feet outside Carson’s legs.

“
Go ahead. Look all you want. I’m not shy.” Blood rushing to his balls, pumping his cock up by the second, Xavier said, “Now do you want your camera?”

Eyes full of confusion and that inward-turned fear, Carson curved his free hand against the back of Xavier’s thigh. Pulled him closer. Xavier caught his breath as Carson leaned forward and brushed his cheek against his cock, which went instantly, absolutely hard.

The moist heat of Carson’s breath seeped through his sweat shorts and clung against Xavier’s skin as Carson nuzzled against him, pressing and rubbing his face against his groin like a goddamned cat, audibly breathing in the smell of him, his hand sliding up the back of Xavier’s thigh, the material slipping up and down his skin as Carson groped him. Then Carson’s naked palm sliding over his thigh underneath his shorts, then shying away, then clawing at his ass, first through the material and then above it, raking his bare skin, dragging the elastic half down Xavier’s hips.

But that was it. Carson went still, and now he was just clinging to him, face buried in his lap like a frightened kid, his hitching breath hot and damp.

Xavier almost didn’t do it. Everything had gone so fucking crazy. But he did. He took Carson’s hand off his ass, and locked his wrist in the restraint. Whatever fear he had that it was a mistake shrank to zero when he saw that inward-turned terror in Carson’s sad eyes extinguish, quick as a flame smothered under a glass.

“
Get up on your knees.”

Christ, Carson was breathing hard. Shallow panting bursts. But he did it.

He straddled Carson’s thighs, made sure he was looking, and pushed his shorts down. Carson watched Xavier’s cock bob free without flinching or turning away. Just a nervous swallow, and that shadow in the furrow between his eyebrows.

And then,
puta madre Maria
, Carson leaned forward and would have put those parted lips on his cock, but Xavier pushed him back. Pinned him against the post, then took two fistfuls of soft dark hair and held him still while he brought the head of his aching cock to Carson’s lips.

Xavier gave him just the tip. Let Carson lick. Let him nurse at the head. Holy God, how could such a tiny tentative touch slam his gonads with such a shock of pleasure?

When he fed Carson the first couple inches of thick shaft, Carson groaned, that sound of relief people usually only make when they’ve been aching for agonizing minutes for a withheld caress.

Taking it easy on him, keeping his grip on his hair, he slid his dick in and out of his mouth—just the first few inches, Carson sucking for all he was fucking worth, lips gripping tight, tongue pushing and probing, sliding and rubbing. Either Carson had sucked cock before, or he’d read the unabridged encyclopedia of blow jobs and practiced on every phallus he could get his hands on. Or maybe he was just a natural, turned loose on his first cock after fifteen years of agonized deprivation. Because whatever he lacked in finesse of technique, he was making up for in enthusiasm. Fuck, was there anything better when a guy was down on your cock, than feeling like he was worshiping it with the fervor of a flagellant? Like he was fucking in love with it?

Still pushing into him slowly, Xavier started fucking Carson’s mouth more deeply, giving him an additional inch, then another, watching his face redden with the exertion.

When Carson started to gag, Xavier backed off, letting him work the crown for a few seconds before driving his cock back toward his throat again. Every time he went really deep, Carson gagged and had one of those convulsive spasms warning he was close to puking, but he never once tried to turn aside or pull away. Xavier backed off again, let him catch his breath while he fed on his fat cock head, noisily, hungrily. Holy hell, he wasn’t going to last another minute.

“Look at me while you suck me.”

Thick dark lashes lifted. Big blue eyes gazing up at him, that furrow between them a deep crease.

God. Baby.

Holding his gaze, pushing into his mouth, slowly fucking, Xavier watched some new alarm swell and churn with the dark arousal in his eyes. Carson’s needful groans changed pitch, and as Xavier fucked his mouth it almost sounded like sobs muffled by the mouthful of cock, and the impulse to relent almost overwhelmed Xavier’s excruciating need to come, but then Carson shuddered and gave out a startled cry, and Xavier twisted and bent to look, not really thinking it was possible. But it was. A long, ropey strand of semen arced up and collapsed in Carson’s lap, embellishing the threads already draped over his belly and dark thatch of hair.

Too stunned, driven instantly and painfully mad with need, Xavier had no words. He just gripped Carson’s hair tighter, drove the pulsating length of his cock between his tight-gripping lips millimeter by millimeter, because it was coming on. Huge. Violent.

Just a few more slow-thrusting strokes, underside of his thrumming, aching cock sliding over the velvety press of Carson’s writhing tongue, and Xavier growled, long and low, the only warning he gave him as the pleasure jolted through his balls and cock. Pushing deep, holding Carson down on his cock, the first load gushed through him, into Carson’s contracting throat.

Mumbling, grunting, Xavier slowly dragged his cock backward against the grip and sweet sucking of Carson’s lips as another spasm launched a second load of come in his mouth, then another just inside his lips. He let go one fistful of hair, grasped his jaw, prying his mouth open just in time to see a final, sluggish spurt of spunk plop onto his already come-flooded tongue.

God, he couldn’t fucking stand it. Xavier dropped to his knees, keeping his grip on Carson’s hair, on his jaw. Startled, nervous, Carson watched as Xavier leaned in, sucked a dribble of translucent white from his soft, pink bottom lip, then plunged his tongue into his mouth, swimming in a deep, murky kiss.

But when he’d had his taste, he left it all for Carson to swallow. Watched him work at it, watched a shudder shake him as his Adam’s apple rose and fell. Watched him lick his lips and swallow again. Good fucking God.

Another kiss. Deep and dangerous. Xavier was losing focus. The point of all this. What he needed Carson for. Not for blow jobs and kisses so deep and sweet (a sweetness that rose up over the bitter spice of his semen) they made Xavier’s chest ache. So unexpected, almost completely unfamiliar, that feeling at his core, like pressing down on a bruise.

If he weren’t afraid of ruining what was surely the best chance—an impossibly fortuitous, completely unforeseen chance—to take down Max and Brian and the rest of those fuckers, he would have done things differently. Enjoyed that kiss tasting of tender, trusting surrender and semen for another ten minutes or an hour. Uncuffed him. Taken him upstairs. Bathed him again. Cuffed him to the bed (because Carson still needed that, not to surrender to Xavier, but to surrender to himself), and carefully (which didn’t necessarily mean gently) palpitate his soul, find his dark, empty places, and fill them all, one-by-one.

But the other thing was too big to sacrifice on the altar of his own pleasure, or even Carson’s need. And Carson was teetering far too precariously on the razor’s edge of that need, and whatever had him so fucking scared of it. Left to his own devices at this point, he’d run back into the closet and lock it like a vault. And he’d hate Xavier as much for what had transpired in that basement, as he hated Max for what he’d done to Olga. So instead of the hundred other things he wanted more, Xavier went back to work (not that this job didn’t have its own pleasures).

He pulled up his shorts, even that fabric softened by a thousand wears and washings a little cruel as it brushed against the head of his spent cock. Going over to the shelf behind Carson, Xavier relished the knowledge that, by now, Carson would know that Xavier going to that shelf meant he wasn’t just going to go upstairs and leave Carson alone for the next two to ten hours.

Hard to read Carson’s reaction at seeing the two enema boxes. A mix of fear and…something more complicated than fear. Xavier released the restraints from the bolt.

“Go clean yourself up.”

Carson extended his arms out in front of him, and all the shards of blue fear reversed polarity.

“Take these off me.”

Xavier was surprised. He would have gambled, after that blow job, that Carson needed what was coming badly enough to keep playing along. More than surprised, though, he was pleased. Carson was upping the stakes. Maybe even on purpose.

“Miss the gag, huh?”

“
I’m leaving. So if you want to keep your toys, get them off me.”

Yes. Of course, on purpose. Because, whether he understood it, himself, or not, each time he gave in to his want, each time he got a taste of the pleasure he’d been denying himself all his life, Carson’s shame rose up like wounded enemy, revived and crueler than ever.

So, Xavier would have to be even more relentless than Carson’s fear and shame.

Xavier laughed. “You haven’t been excused.”

He could see Carson working out his strategy. Just going for the door was too big a risk. What could Xavier do, in response to a physical act of defiance, except retaliate physically? So Carson was negotiating.