Behind the Scene (2 page)

"Feels good," he says. "It's a pain in the ass to reach everywhere by myself."

The redness from the flogger has faded, but the deeper bruise-shaded welts from the cane have deepened, and they're hot to the touch. They're expertly spaced across Ethan's ass, where his skin is bone white and the crease dusted with fine, dark hair.

After warming the aloe between his palms, Robert runs the sharp edge of his hand down Ethan's cleft, his pinky finding the private skin there. "Are you sore here?" he asks, unable to mask the heat in his voice.

"Sensitive." Ethan's hips wiggle faintly as he spreads his legs.
God, he's shameless.
"Not sore."

"May I use my mouth?" Robert asks, using two hands to thumb Ethan open carefully and examine the pink twist of his hole.

Ethan jolts, shoulders going tight as he pushes his forehead against the pillow. "Yes, Sir, please," he whispers.

"No," Robert corrects gently. "Just Robert. And keep your eyes open."

Ethan snorts and kneads at the sheets. "Which is it, Robert? I like you." He rolls his hips into the mattress. "I can play, we can play. Do you want my safe word?"

The temptation tugs at Robert. When it's there, bared before him, offered and spread open and pink and perfect and Ethan, Robert starts to recognize how much he wants this. It's a dark, liquid desire, hot in his mouth. "Not tonight," he says, wrestling the words out against the tide of
yes yes yes
. "And not here."

"A raincheck?" Ethan asks, wearing his hope openly, like a held breath.

"Yes."

"Then please, just-Robert. Put your mouth on me. Tongue my hole. I want to feel you."

Robert bends, kneeling on the mattress between Ethan's thighs, and starts slowly; he licks the rounds of Ethan's ass first, lapping softly at the inflamed skin, teasing until Ethan releases a breath with a shaky whine.

"Shh," Robert says, playing with Ethan's hole with both thumbs. "I'm going to give it to you."

When he mouths a sloppy, wet kiss and works his tongue at Ethan hard, Ethan arches, breathing out encouraging sounds, and Robert loses himself in it, lapping and licking and tonguing until his jaw aches.

The smell of come is an afterthought. It takes Robert a hazy minute to realize Ethan came against his sheets, grinding at them with no other stimulation. "Fuck," Robert says. "Beautiful, roll over."

He turns Ethan and palms his softening cock, playing with the cooling come and watching Ethan breathe floatily, eyes half lidded.

"You're good at that," Ethan says--pliant, knees spread, heels pulled up. He focuses on Robert unsteadily before covering his face with one hand and letting out a strained giggle.

"Are you blushing?" Robert asks.

"Maybe."

Robert snorts and presses two aloe-smeared fingers to Ethan's hole, letting him feel what he intends to do. "Tell me how you like it, Ethan."

Ethan uncovers his face and gives Robert a firm nudge with the ball of one foot. "Stop framing what you're saying as orders. It's... it throws me off. Please." As soon as he's spoken, he looks away, and his fingers curl up. "Sorry."

It's a speed bump to be chastised and to see Ethan so conflicted--but as briefly uncomfortable as it feels, Robert welcomes the insight. He takes in the change in Ethan's demeanor, the way his thighs tense up, unease clear in every line of his body. This is how they learn.

Robert takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, shaking off the break in their momentum, and asks, "Would you... will you tell me how you like to get fucked, Ethan? I want to make it good for you."

Ethan doesn't mask his relief. He smiles shyly at Robert and nods, playing with his balls briefly, as if fidgeting or scratching an itch. "I don't like a lot of prep."

"Little late for that..."

"No, that was... it was perfect. I mean, just wrap up and slick up and... make it burn a little." The blush returns, spreading down Ethan's chest to his hardened nipples. "I want to feel it tomorrow."

Robert crawls over him, bracketing him with his elbows and knees. "I can do that."

"Now?"

"Do you kiss?"

Ethan blinks. "I--I do."

Robert kisses him, lowering his body down onto Ethan, knowing his belt will dig at Ethan's sharp hipbones, knowing how good it feels to be exposed and open with a hard, clothed body against his skin. Ethan responds with a surprised gasp and parts his lips wide, giving Robert his mouth and tugging at his shirt like he's urging Robert to fill him more and more and more. Robert grinds at him slowly, showing him the pace he likes, how he'll make it good, nice and deep.

They kiss for a long time, until Robert's mouth stings from the surprising roughness of Ethan's face and he's in very real danger of coming in his slacks.

"How do you want it, Ethan?"

Ethan's cheeks are blotchy, his mouth kiss-worn and red. "Now," he says, laughing breathlessly.

• • •

Robert undresses hurriedly, giving up on any kind of finesse.

While he rolls a condom on and smears it with thick lube, Ethan rolls over onto his belly. "Can I get come on your pillow?"

"Sure?"

Ethan pushes a pillow under his hips, and Robert nearly spurts in his hand as he strokes the lube onto his cock. With his hips raised like that, Ethan's ass is perfectly exposed, his balls tucked out, bulbous and red against the pale fabric.

"Robert," Ethan says huskily, a shiver running down his back and thighs. Goosebumps rise along his skin sharply as he pushes up on his elbows and lets his head hang.

Make it burn.
Robert lines himself up and breathes sharply, ignoring the urge to get his fingers in Ethan first. He lets his weight carry him in, hissing through the first too-tight-too-tight pinch until the tension releases and he's in, little by little.

He feels Ethan move under him, feels him shudder and feels his body spasm as he adjusts to the steady, deep penetration. When he's fully seated, Robert drops his mouth to the back of Ethan's neck and murmurs, "You okay?"

"Good. So good. Move, move, Robert. Fuck me."

Robert wants to nail him. He wants to use the bounce and give of the mattress to fuck him like a machine, but he remembers what Ethan asked for, that he wanted a long fuck. If he doesn't take it slow, he's never going to last.

"You're going to make me prove my stamina, aren't you?" Robert asks, strained.

Beneath him, Ethan cranes a wicked little grin over his shoulder. "Yes."

The condom helps, but not much. Every slow, deep stroke into Ethan's heat drives Robert closer to climax. It's been longer than he cares to recall since the last time he simply hooked up, fucked without a cord around his cock and balls or a gloved hand stroking him off.

It feels good, and it's fun--and it's so fucking hard to hold back.

"You're shaking," Ethan says.

Robert's breath blasts out against Ethan's shoulder. It's like doing push-ups. He's using every shred of his concentration to will back his orgasm. "Yes. Well."

Ethan's voice is soft and husky with want. "I like it."

"Fuck--fuck!" Robert gasps, and that's it. He grinds down as he comes, riding it out deep. As the last of it shudders out of him, he flattens against Ethan, gasping harshly to catch his breath.

"Yes," Ethan says. He groans and rocks up at Robert and stretches, hot and sweaty and humming contentedly.

• • •

At the Compound, everything is regimented--even the cleanup. When Robert finds himself sponging his own come off a polished concrete floor, the hard surface making his bare knees ache, it's comforting. Like meditation.

Here in his bedroom, it's another story. He kisses Ethan's shoulder, eases out of him carefully and crawls to the side of the bed to peel away his condom and reach for a clean, dry towel. There's nothing straightforward now, no firm etiquette. And even if there are unspoken hookup rules, he's never had a one night stand, or whatever this is.

"Do you want some water?" Robert turns to ask, voice trailing off when he sees that Ethan has curled onto his side and fallen asleep with the pillow clutched in his arms. He stills, holding the towel and staring at Ethan, who isn't quite compact, even curled up like that. Ethan is so long; lanky and graceful in sleep.

Quietly, Robert pulls on a pair of sweatpants and tidies up in the bedroom, clearing off the nightstand and leaving a bottle of water there for Ethan, in case he wakes. He places Ethan's messenger bag on the floor beside the bed and eases the duvet over Ethan's legs and hips and sneaks out of the room to sleep on the couch--in front of the lingering heat of the fireplace.

• • •

Even on Sunday mornings, Robert wakes before seven. Normally, he'll have a piece of toast and go running, but this morning, he wakes to the lingering smell of sex on his body and an uncomfortable twinge in his neck from the firm cushions on his couch. He sits up, smiling in the dark, thinking about Ethan asleep in his bed.

Then he hears the shrill, staccato buzz of his alarm clock in the bedroom and swears, jumping up to run and turn it off.

"Sorry," he says, barging into the bedroom and hurrying to the clock on the nightstand. "Shit. I should have turned this off before I went to bed. Damn."

When he squints at the bed, he sees Ethan's silhouette. Ethan is just sitting there in the dark, so Robert turns on the alarm clock's LED nightlight.

"I'm really sorry about that," Robert says, feeling a twinge of awkwardness at the way Ethan just sits there, saying nothing. He hadn't really considered the morning after and how it might work. "I work out in the mornings," he goes on, sitting back on his heels on the plush carpet beside the bed. "So, you know... the alarm."

In the gentle blue glow of the light, Robert sees Ethan's fingers plucking at the hair on his forearm over and over.

Robert sits on the side of the bed. "Hey," he says softly. "You okay?"

The way Ethan stares at nothing at all, Robert wants to wave his hand back and forth in front of his face, like people do in cartoons. He's never seen anyone sleep walking, and he hopes that's what it is. Sleep walking isn't terrifying. He shouldn't be freaking out. He isn't going to freak out. He's freaking out a little.

"Ethan," Robert says. He frowns when Ethan doesn't react to the sound of his voice at all, and reaches out very slowly, trying to decide where to touch Ethan to get his attention.

Then Ethan abruptly turns to Robert and says, "What?"

"Fuck!" Robert says, heart rate picking up like he heard a gunshot. "You startled me. Are you awake?"

Wide-eyed, Ethan stares at him. He's shivering visibly as he grasps the sheets and pulls them up over his bare lap. "Sorry--I. Where are we?" he asks, his breath noisy and erratic like he's terrified. "What?"

"My room--Ethan--"

"Please turn the light on."

"Sure, yeah," Robert says, hurrying to the light switch on the wall.

When the bright overhead light flares on, Ethan cringes and covers his eyes with his hand.

"Can I, fuck. What can I do to help?" Robert asks, the freakout still buzzing in his belly somewhere, threatening to become full blown panic.

"I don't know where I am," Ethan says, his voice hitching like he's about to cry. He shakes his head, and doesn't look up, and looks so lost and truly scared there in Robert's bed that Robert can't help climbing in with him and pulling the duvet up over Ethan's shoulders.

"You're in my apartment. This is my bed. I'm... I'm Robert. From the Compound. I don't think we got as far as last names. Robert Bowen. We um... had sex last night."

As Robert rambles on, Ethan folds over against his lap and stays like that, shivering and quiet. He doesn't seem scared anymore, just tired, so Robert keeps talking and strokes his shoulder in firm circles, wondering when he should find Ethan's phone and look up his ICE contact or just dial 911.

Just as Robert finishes describing the driving route between the Compound and his apartment, Ethan groans and says, "Oh my God, it's clearing up. I didn't take my meds last night. Oh God. Oh my God, I'm so sorry."

He sits up, bleary-eyed but somehow
him
again, in a way Robert can't place. It's incredibly relieving.

"Just tell me what you need," Robert says, surprised to find his voice a little shaky, as if the relief has sapped away his ability to handle the situation.

Ethan's expression shifts, awareness becoming something else. Something that shutters away immediately as he extracts himself from Robert's loose hold and grabs the bottled water next to the bed. "I just need my bag. Oh. Shit, it's right here. I can't believe I forgot."

"You fell asleep. After we..."

Ethan leans over the side of the bed and pulls a small prescription bottle out of the bag. His side is pale and pretty, gorgeous from the tufts of black hair under his arm to the sharp snap of his hipbone. He downs one large, yellowish pill with the entire bottle of water.

Despite everything, Robert watches Ethan's throat bob and wants to touch the shadow of blossoming facial hair there, wants to hold him again.

"I must have scared you. I'm so sorry," Ethan says, fidgeting with the plastic lid. "I haven't had an episode in months. I never would have come home with you if I'd thought..." He groans and rubs his eyes. "What time is it?"

Robert glances at the clock. "A little after seven."

"I'm sorry I woke you up. Do you want to go back to sleep? I have to call my roommate for a ride but she won't be up until 10 or so. I can go to the couch. I have papers to grade--"

"The alarm woke me up, not you," Robert says, trying to process Ethan's rapid, scattered speech.

"Oh."

"You don't remember."

"No," Ethan says, still playing with the lid, tapping it against the plastic bottle now. He laughs faintly, avoiding Robert's eye, and not sounding all that amused. "Usually when I have memory loss I'm not naked."

"Your clothes are in the bathroom. Do you want them?"

"I'm okay with the blankets for now." He looks over the side of the bed and tosses the prescription bottle back into his messenger bag.

"Maybe you should start at the beginning," Robert says. "I'll make some coffee."