Double Blind (50 page)

“Fucking hell,” Randy complained, then stopped as Ethan undid the button and the fly to his trousers and let them fall to the floor.

“There you go,” Randy whispered.

Ethan, who didn’t feel like giggling anymore, reached for the joint, took a hit, then sat back down.

Randy was staring right at Ethan’s crotch. “Let’s stop playing and fuck,” he said.

“No,” Sam said calmly, but Ethan thought maybe with a hint of wickedness. “I want to keep playing.”

So they did.

Ethan lost track of time, of place, even of himself. At some point popcorn appeared, and he didn’t know what kind it was, but damn if it wasn’t the best popcorn he had ever had in his whole life. He practically licked the inside of his bowl when it was gone, but settled for licking his fingers and running them along the inside of the bowl, catching the salty butter on the rim.

He noticed that Randy watched him whenever he did that.

Ethan was slightly drunk and very high. And horny. His erection was intermittent, which should have scared him, but he kept thinking, “Who cares?” and he gleefully took off his jacket at Randy’s order, then when he won and drew his own chip, removed his shirt. Sam only got called on when his chip was drawn; Randy always ordered Ethan to undress, and Ethan always went after Randy or himself, which was why Randy was also in just socks and underwear, begging for a chance to take the latter off too. When Ethan realized this, that it was in many ways a two-man game, he turned to Sam, giggling, and apologized.

“It’s not a problem,” Sam said, smiling just a little wickedly. “I’m beginning to understand the appeal of the voyeur to Mitch.”

That made Ethan sober a little. “I’m sorry he got called away longer, Sam. But we’ll keep you company.” He looked down, realized he’d put his hand not just on Sam’s thigh but practically on his cock, and he giggled. “Oops. Sorry.”

But Sam stopped his hand from withdrawing completely and caressed his palm before letting him go. “Stop apologizing, Ethan,” he said. “Otherwise I might have to punish you.”

Now Randy was giggling, which made Ethan giggle. God, this was fun.

“I want to fuck,” Randy said again.

“Be a good boy,” Sam said, “and I might let you.”

“Hey!” Randy objected, frowning. “Who put you in charge, Peaches?”

Ethan giggled more.

Sam arched an eyebrow. “Okay, fine. Whoever can walk in a straight line from the kitchen to the bathroom gets to be in charge.”

Ethan who was having a hard time just sitting up, threw up his hands in surrender. But Randy stood, hitched up his underwear and wandered toward the refrigerator in a drunken zigzag. He righted himself, drew a deep breath, then headed for the hallway, walking forward one, slow, painful step at a time. When he listed left so hard that he ran into the couch, he swayed, giggled, then fell over sideways.

“I want to fuck him!” Randy cried, pleading and giggling at the same time. Upside down, he reached for Sam. His legs were spread and hanging over the back of the couch, and Ethan could see the tip of his cock peeking over the black band of his underwear. “Please, Peaches?”

Yes,
Ethan thought, dizzy and very, very horny.
Please, Peaches.

Sam leaned his elbows on his knees and regarded Randy severely. “You haven’t been a good boy,” he said.

Ethan giggled again. Or maybe he was still giggling from the last time. He couldn’t tell.

Randy’s laugh, however, was wicked. “Then you should
punish
me.” He tugged at the waistband of his underwear, revealing a luscious portion of his groin, but not, alas, his penis. “Get the paddle, Sammy, and
punish
my bad ass.”

The image of Randy bent over while being paddled by Sam filled Ethan’s head, and he stopped giggling. He couldn’t even breathe for a minute.
Yes. Punish him, Sam.

Sam reached over and took severe hold of Randy’s chin. “Be good, Randy, or you’ll go to bed without any fucking at all.”

Randy sobered—mostly. He touched Sam’s hand in acquiescence. “Yes, sir.” He stroked the hand. “But can we please stop playing the game? And play a different game? With sex in it?” He stroked again. “Please?”

Sam patted his cheek in a gesture that should have been almost paternal but was somehow arousing instead. “Sit up.” Randy did, sitting primly—if somewhat unsteadily—as he waited for his next instruction.

Sam looked at Ethan, then back at Randy. “You can kiss him. But just a kiss, or I’ll punish you.”

Randy gave a laugh so wicked it was almost a growl. Then he stood and stepped over the table, knocking an empty beer bottle off and sending half the deck and the cup of chips onto the floor. He stared down at Ethan, a dopey, drunk-high look on his face. Then Randy grabbed the waistband of his underwear, pushed it down to his knees, then to the floor, then stepped out of it, straddled Ethan, and pressed his naked body against Ethan’s nearly naked one and took his mouth in an open-mouthed, beer-and-cannabis tinted kiss.

Ethan moaned, opened his mouth wide, and took him in.

The world was already spinning, but it left its axis and arced off into outer space when Randy stuck his tongue deep into Ethan’s throat, then drew Ethan’s own tongue into his mouth and sucked on it. All the while he did this, he ground his cock into Ethan’s stomach. Ethan moaned into his mouth and groped blindly for his ass. In response, Randy growled into his mouth, pinched Ethan’s nipple, and then reached down to pull Ethan out of his underwear. When he took their cocks together in his hand, Ethan shuddered and thrust up into his hand, and if he hadn’t been so dazed by the marijuana he would probably have come then and there.

But then Randy let go and drew Ethan’s hand up toward his own mouth. Ethan watched, dizzy and full of lust as he watched Randy take the fingers deep inside.

“Hurry,” he whispered, and sucked again, letting his saliva run in thick strands down Ethan’s fingers. “Put them in me, Slick. Fuck me, baby, before he comes back.”

Ethan didn’t even know Sam had left, but he didn’t ask questions, just pushed his fingers deep in Randy’s mouth again, loving the look of that, the way Randy had, with the help of substances both legal and illegal, completely let go, giving himself more completely to Ethan than he’d even known to wish for. For one second, he wished Randy trusted him enough to do that sober.

Then he gave that thought up and reached around Randy’s waiting, willing body. Randy had himself open, spread, eager, and when Ethan pushed against his anus, Randy pushed back and sucked him in. As Ethan pushed deeper, trying to be careful, Randy took his mouth in a kiss and moaned as he impaled himself. Shuddering, Ethan kissed him back and tried to find a rhythm, fucking and kissing desperately.

And then something pulled his fingers out and pushed them away, and Randy pulled back. Ethan opened his eyes in time to see the look of dazed, eager anticipation on his face, and then Randy was bracing himself, his hands on the chair behind Ethan on either side of his shoulders, his knees spread and still straddling Ethan, but his head now pushed hard against Ethan’s shoulder.

“Here it comes,” he whispered.

And then Ethan saw Sam, poised, a flat, wide, wooden paddle in his hand. Ethan’s eyes went wide. No. Really?
Really?

Really
, he admitted, amazed as he watched the paddle swing down and smack, hard and fast and loud against the bare surface of Randy’s exposed ass.

Randy cried out, loud and rough and lusty, and it shook Ethan because it was almost more lusty than the cries he made when they had sex. Then the paddle came down again, and again, and Randy shouted louder, and buried himself harder against Ethan, and then the blows—there was no other word, Sam was striking
blows
—came faster and faster, and now Randy was grunting and humping, and so was Ethan, because even though it was strange and scary and almost surreal, it was also the most fucking erotic thing he’d ever felt or seen.

And then all of a sudden it wasn’t, because his shoulder was wet, and it was because he realized that Randy was sobbing.

Ethan jolted and looked to Sam in alarm, but when the younger man stopped, Randy gripped Ethan’s shoulders tight and turned his head back over his shoulder at Sam, “Don’t
stop
!” he shouted, so raw and undone that Ethan almost came undone along with him. Sam nodded, curtly, and resumed, and it was weird for a moment, but then Randy was undulating against him, gripping him hard, kneading his biceps, and Ethan shut his eyes and nuzzled Randy’s ear as Randy wept into Ethan’s shoulder.

On some unspoken cue, or maybe just because his arm was tired, Sam stopped again, and this time Randy sagged against Ethan, who cradled him close.

Sam bent and kissed the small of Randy’s back, stroking him gently. “I’m going to go and get some lotion, Randy,” he said, quietly, and Randy nodded.

It was just the two of them now, Randy taking deep, ragged breaths, Ethan reeling and trying to figure out if that had actually happened or if this was some hallucination. Then Randy kissed his neck, and Ethan took his face in his hands and kissed him back, long and hard and deep.

“Sorry,” Randy whispered, when Ethan came up for air. His eyes were closed, and he looked exhausted. “It was a rough day in therapy.”

“It’s okay.” Ethan shut his eyes, too, and nuzzled him.
I love you,
he thought, and then, like the marijuana and alcohol were some sort of verbal chute, it came out of his mouth too. “I love you, Randy.”

“I love you too, baby.” Randy’s mouth sought his, then settled on his chin and suckled it a little. “Don’t go, Ethan. Don’t go.”

That made Ethan open his eyes, and he was going to ask where the hell Randy thought he was going, and then he saw the pain on Randy’s face. He couldn’t say a word.

Randy stared at Ethan’s chin, his fingers tracing his cheek. There were tears in his eyes again. “Don’t go, Ethan. Please. Don’t.”

“Randy,” Ethan whispered, but his throat was too full to say anything more.

And then Sam was back. And Ethan got a good look at Randy’s ass and recoiled. It was as red as his chips.

“It’s okay,” Randy said, laughing again—God, but pot was weird—and winced a little as Sam applied cream. “I’m all nice and warm now.”

“I’m careful,” Sam said, meeting Ethan’s eyes as he worked. “Mitch taught me. It really is okay. I know how to hurt him only in the right way.” He smiled, half wicked, half shy. All Sam. “I can teach you later.”

Ethan nodded. He couldn’t look at Randy’s ass, though, so he watched Randy’s face instead, touching it, staring down into it. He tried to tell him, with his eyes, that he would never leave, not if he could help it, that he didn’t know how he would ever leave this. Him. How he’d ever leave him.

It might have worked, if Randy’s eyes hadn’t been closed.

They stayed closed too. “Sorry,” he slurred, as Sam finished with his ass. “Don’t think I’m gonna get to fuck you, Slick.”

Ethan kissed his temple in reply. Weird, how he’d been so horny, and still was, but sleep sounded good too. His erection still came and went a lot, which normally would have freaked him out. But given that witnessing that almost brutal paddling hadn’t put him off, he supposed nothing really would right now.