The Party

The Party

Noah unbuttoned the top two buttons of Jonah's shirt and kissed his cheek. "We're going to a party, not a funeral and not church."

Jonah nodded and tried to look happy about it. He'd rather have gone to church; he knew what to do there, even though he didn't believe a word of it. His dad had made sure of that—forgiving Christian with a belt.

"It's only lunch, and I can't put them off any longer." Noah ruffled Jonah's hair, mussing it in the way Noah found endearing. "You can still only see the collar if you know what to look for."

Jonah didn't want anyone to see. He didn't care if these friends were into the scene; he wasn't, and he didn't like parties anyway. He'd managed parties in Texas; he knew how to do it there. He knew how to act straight. He didn't know how to be an out gay man. Noah was always preaching to just be himself, but... Jonah swallowed hard. Noah was looking at him too intently. He didn't want to be interrogated; he forced another smile on his face.

"I'm fine."

"Jonah, if you can't do this, we can stay home." Noah stroked a finger down Jonah’s cheek.

"No, I'm fine." Jonah squared his shoulders and finger combed his hair back into place.

"You're a terrible liar." Noah snapped his fingers and his voice hardened. "But as you want to play it this way, you will come, and I expect you to behave." Noah raised his voice so it could be heard down the hall. "Samuel, come on. I'm sure you're gorgeous."

Samuel was gorgeous in a turquoise blue shirt and dark jeans. He had several silver bracelets, purchased at the Indian market, on one arm. Silver and turquoise earrings completed the ensemble. Men didn't go out dressed like that. Jonah bit his tongue to suppress the automatic order to change. Noah had no tolerance for such orders; he'd imprinted that on Jonah's brain with a severe tone of disapproval and an occasional hand on Jonah's skin.

Thinking of hands, Noah's hand had moved down Jonah's back, and he gave a warning squeeze on Jonah's butt.

"It's not Texas," Noah whispered.

Yes, but Samuel didn't need to dress like an advertisement for gay living. The stranger in the coffee shop didn't need to know that they were deviants. Noah hated that word; it was one of the few things that could shake Noah's calm. Last time it had escaped Jonah's lips, Noah had made Jonah write twenty positive adjectives describing himself and write a paragraph about each. Next time Noah had said it would be fifty. It had taken Jonah hours to do twenty; he'd never be able to do fifty.

"As always I'm outdone by my two beauties." Noah kissed Samuel's forehead and Jonah's cheek. "We're off."

The drive didn't take nearly long enough as far as Jonah was concerned. He would have been happy if it had taken two to three hours on one of those dirt tracks that they called roads out here. Samuel had chatted the whole time; that boy could talk. He'd always been so much quieter in Texas. 

That was because he was afraid you'd belt him, you idiot. 

Samuel wasn't afraid of Noah. Noah never punished Samuel. Jonah stared out the window, blocking Samuel's chatter. Couldn't he be quiet for thirty seconds?

"Shut up."

Noah's eyes could get hard, and they were steel now. His voice was tight and clipped. "That was uncalled for. Hands on your lap; eyes on the floor."

"It's OK," Samuel said. "I know I talk too much."

"It's not OK," Noah said, his voice still tight and controlled. "Speaking to a stranger in that tone is unacceptable, no one in our family speaks to each other that way."

"Jonah doesn't like parties, and I'm dressed provocatively."

"Samuel, Jonah's bad manners are not your fault. They are his manners and his responsibility. I will not tolerate it."

Noah nosed the car into a roadside pull off with a historical marker which no doubt commemorated some exploit of the Spanish Conquistadors. They were all over this part of the country.

"Step out with me." Noah climbed out of the car and came around and opened Jonah's door.

Jonah wanted to stay in the car. His dad had dragged him out of the car once. He'd pleaded and begged, and his dad had called him a sissy. He was a sissy; his dad had been right. Jonah stood, not taking Noah's hand. 

"What do you think I'm going to do to you?" Noah had taken them behind the toilet shack out of sight of the car. "You're white."

Belt me, Jonah thought. He deserved to be belted. His father would have belted him. Jonah bit his lip and darted glances at Noah. This was Noah. He’d always been different.

"Hey, I'm not spanking anyone who looks this terrified." Noah brushed his hand down Jonah's face, and Jonah flinched, shutting his eyes and tightening his jaw. "How often did your father slap you? He pulled you out of the car and beat you also, didn't he?"

Jonah nodded, swallowing back traitorous tears.

"Well, we aren't doing either." Noah kissed Jonah on the lips, gently, almost chastely. "I thought the comment was about needing a little spanking to settle you down, but I don't hit when you're this frightened. You'll have lines tonight, and you will apologize to Samuel for being intolerably rude."

"Yes, sir."

"Jonah." Noah leaned over Jonah fencing him with his arms and pushing him against the shack wall. "I know you're uncomfortable at social events where you think you're expected to act gay. I have no idea what act gay means, but to you it's a fate worse than death. I know this, and I offered you an opportunity to stay home. You threw it back in my face. I wasn't challenging your manhood. It's your decision to be here, and I expect you to behave. There are consequences to your actions."

"Yes, sir." Jonah swallowed and tried to look at Noah. He should accept the chastisement like a man. Chastisement, that was his father's word. Noah said it sounded like it came from Pilgrim’s Progress. He deserved far more than this verbal scolding.

“Good.” Noah held out his hand, and Jonah took it his time. “My complicated one,” Noah said with a slight smile.

Complicated. Was that an insult? Noah didn’t seem upset, but Jonah wasn’t very good at reading him. He wasn’t very good at any of this stuff.

Samuel gave Jonah a quizzical look as he clambered back into the car and watched Jonah closely. “Did he?” Samuel whispered.

Jonah shook his head. No, he hadn’t been spanked. Noah should have; Jonah had behaved despicably.

“Sorry, Samuel,” Jonah murmured.

“It’s OK.”

“It wasn’t OK,” Noah said, his voice cool, “but it’s finished now. We just won’t repeat it.”

“Yes, sir,” Jonah said, trying to hold Noah’s eyes. He’d never be a good submissive. He couldn’t even ride in the car without doing something foolish. His behavior reflected on Noah. There would be people at this party who knew how to submit, who were good boys. He couldn’t submit at home; he’d never manage it in public.

They pulled into the gravel driveway. No more time for Jonah to say he couldn’t manage. The house was bigger than Noah’s with multiple stone walls and garden nooks and two casitas connected by porticos to the main house. A young man dressed in running shorts, T-shirt, and bare feet opened the door wide.

“You made it,” the man said with an exuberant grin.

“Kenny, go change. That is not the way to greet guests,” A man with silvering hair said from the doorway. The man’s hand reached down and patted Kenny’s butt as he pointed him back inside. “That boy will be the death of me,” The man said as slinky green shorts moved deeper into the house. “I take it these are your boys who we’ve heard so much about. They are beautiful.”

The man, who still hadn’t given Jonah his name, studied Jonah and Samuel as if they were prized horses at auction. His light brown eyes moved from Jonah’s face, over his body, and back again to his face. Jonah glared back, bracing his shoulders and sticking out his chin. He might have said something foolish and certainly belligerent, but Samuel stepped forward.

“Hi, I’m Samuel.” The bracelets slid down his arm as he shook hands. He batted his eyes, looking shockingly flirtatious and winked at Noah.

“Is he always this way? I’d keep that boy on a leash.”

“No,” Noah said, his eyebrows disappearing into his hairline. “Jonah, Samuel, this is Roberto, and old friend of mine. Kenny I take it is your new boy?”

“Six months. And don’t scold me about robbing the cradle. I know. I think you turn fifty, and your brain chemistry goes haywire.”

“How old is he?”

“Turned twenty on Thursday. I’m too old to remember being excited about my birthday, and, Noah, you can interrogate me later. This is a chance for me to meet your boys who you’ve been hiding in your hermit lifestyle. Two, I never thought you’d be that greedy.”

“They’re my partners, not just my boys,” Noah said archly.

Roberto reached forward and squeezed Noah’s arm. “You always were a prickly son of a gun. True love for you.” Roberto’s voice dropped. “I hope you found it. We all worried about you. You just disappeared.”

Noah shrugged. “It wasn’t that important to me, and I have what I want now.” Noah brushed his hand down Samuel’s back, hooked Jonah’s neck with his other arm, and kissed him hard. His lips pressed against Jonah’s with near bruising strength.

Jonah wanted to give into the kiss. He could feel a betraying erection in his pants. “Not here.” He pushed away and jammed his hands into his pockets. “No.”

“I’ll leave you two to hash that out,” Roberto said with a cheerfulness that made Jonah cringe. He’d just said no to his dom. Noah was his dom, and he was the collared boy. Roberto knew what would happen.

“Samuel, will help you in the kitchen,” Noah said, his arm still tight around Jonah.

Jonah stood against Noah, trying to be the good boy. He knew better. He clenched his fists together and waited.

“Come here.” Noah tugged Jonah down onto the sofa. 

It was a comfortable living room, expensive too. Jonah’s father would have noticed that. He’s always noticed the cost of goods in a house. He’d know the relative worth of the neighborhoods also. This was an expensive neighborhood, tucked back in the piñon covered foothills. 

“Jonah, look at me.”  Noah grasped Jonah’s chin with one hand and with the other hand traced the thin collar which peeked out from under Jonah’s shirt. “You are a collared submissive. There are certain levels of behavior that are expected when you wear this collar.” Noah smiled ruefully. “We don’t seem to be there yet.”

Jonah tried not to look at Noah’s eyes. He’d failed. He couldn’t even manage to handle the hello properly.

“Jonah, I understand, but you have a commitment to me which I expect you to honor. The question is will those expectations be easier for you if I spank you?”

“No, not here,” Jonah said in panic.

“No again,” Noah said thoughtfully. “That’s not an option for you, my boy. You know that.” Noah slid the collar around Jonah’s neck, so he could feel the links rub against his skin. “You aren’t a free agent.”

Jonah took a sharp breath. He had to get a hold of himself; he wasn’t going to make a scene. 

Noah leaned forward and kissed Jonah’s forehead. “You’re making me feel like an ogre. The question I asked was a real one. Will a spanking help you find your headspace? It’s not about terror and intimidation.”

“Please. Please. Don’t spank me.” Jonah tried to turn away. He’d just begged like a sissy boy. Filthy, useless fag.

“I’ve never punished you away from home.” Noah played his fingers through Jonah’s hair. “I don’t know.” Noah sat silent for a moment, his fingers slowly tangling in Jonah’s dark hair. “On your knees.”

Jonah gave Noah a pleading look, but slipped from the sofa and went awkwardly to his knees. “What if they come in?”

“They won’t. Roberto is an experienced dom. He’ll make sure we have privacy. Now think about me. You’re only concern is me, not Roberto, not Roberto’s boy, but me. I expect at least an attempt at obedience. Think about your role as my boy.”

Kneeling wasn’t painful. The rug was plush and Noah continued to stroke Jonah’s hair and neck, his fingers warm and comforting. No one entered the room. If Jonah strained he could hear faint sounds from the kitchen: the glide of the drawers, the clatter of pans on the counter, the muted hum of conversation. He felt his heart rate slow and the constriction in his chest ease.

“All right. Let’s try to make it through lunch.”

Jonah was going to make it through lunch. He could manage this. These were people Noah knew well.

“Better?” Roberto asked in a quiet tone as Jonah and Noah walked into the kitchen. Roberto reached out to ruffle Jonah’s hair, a gesture he probably did with hundreds of submissive and was probably meant to be nothing but gentle comfort. He’d thought Jonah had been spanked; Jonah had seen Milton do the very same, an unconscious tactile act of comfort.

“Don’t touch me!” Jonah’s fist swung upward, connecting with Roberto’s nose in a too accurate blow. Blood spurted onto the floor, red spots on the tile.

Noah caught the back of Jonah’s shirt, dragging him from the kitchen as he snared a key ring from a wall hook.

Jonah stumbled outside, gulping in the cool air as Noah pushed him down the brick path to the casita. 

“Sit down. There, on the floor.”

Jonah crumpled to the tile floor, wrapping his arms around his knees, hardly noticing the sleek modern furniture around him. Noah was occupying Jonah’s space, taking all of Jonah’s attention. From the floor, Noah was tall and broad. He stared down at Jonah; the softness that so often shone in those hazel eyes was gone. Noah was intimidating; Jonah felt his stomach roil, and he swallowed down the wave of bile.

“Jonah.” Noah shook his head.

“I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.” Jonah knew he was babbling, but he couldn’t seem to shut up.

“Jonah,” Noah repeated. “A grown man doesn’t punch another in the face. I’m aware that Roberto is forward as a dominant, but he was trying to be kind. He didn’t deserve to be hit in the face.”

“Yes, sir.” It was all Jonah could manage.

Noah sat down on the red leather sofa and patted his thighs. “Over my knee. Pants and underwear down.”

It was beyond humiliating for Jonah to stand in front of Noah with his pants bunched around his ankles. Over the table for the belt would have been far easier. Noah watched silently, making Jonah take the position without aid. He was voluntarily going over another man’s lap. Jonah blinked back a traitorous tear as Noah’s hand rubbed his back before pinning Jonah’s right wrist down and trapping his legs. Jonah was strong enough that even in this position he could probably fight his way free, but he lay still, gulping air and feeling goosebumps rise on his exposed skin.

“This is the hard way,” Noah said as he landed the first spank with a crack of his hand. “There are far better ways to get what you need from me.”

Each individual blow never jerked the air out of Jonah’s lungs or raised a crimson welt against his white skin. It was never the angry, wild swings of Jonah’s father. Each blow was measured and landed precisely over the skin. It hurt in a cumulative rise of heat that couldn’t be denied, Jonah felt the tears leak from his eyes as he gulped and choked and tried to stay silent. It would come in a torrent; Jonah knew it would. Noah would spank him until he was limp and compliant and sodden with tears, but also until he was calm and protected.

Jonah’s breath caught at each fresh blow. He bit his lip and screwed his eyes shut, resisting the inevitable. It was burning, his hips tried to buck at each blow, tried to find unmarked skin for the next swat. The tears came: unbidden, shamefully, and perversely a relief. Noah continued to spank, but Jonah lost himself in the tears, no longer choking back the snot that was pouring from him.

“My good boy. My poor boy.” Noah’s hand stroked Jonah’s shoulders. “This was the hard way.”

Jonah nodded, clinging fiercely to Noah’s pants leg. Noah hadn't allowed him to rest his upper body on the couch, pushing his head down and forcing Jonah to balance with his hands wrapped around Noah’s ankle.

“Up now.” Noah helped Jonah stand, organized his pants, and then pulled him down on the sofa next to him. “Are you in the right place now?”

Jonah nodded and buried his face in Noah’s chest. Noah cuddled, insisted on cuddling. It wasn’t something that Jonah had understood. He was a man; he wasn’t supposed to be drowning in uncontrolled emotions, but he liked this time. He didn’t have to do anything but feel Noah’s gentle fingers tracing circles on his back and stroking through his hair.

Jonah dozed, curled against Noah. They would talk about it later when he was all languid and sleepy and couldn’t put two coherent words together. According to Noah, Jonah actually said what he felt at those times, and not some insane idea of what he thought a man was supposed to say.

Jonah half opened his eyes as he heard a knock. Noah tightened his arm around Jonah and shouted, “It’s safe.”

“That looks better.” Roberto was standing at the door, a large picnic basket swinging from his arm. “I brought you lunch.”

“Thank you,” Noah said.

“Samuel’s talking art with Peter. He showed up with his boy after you scrambled for privacy.”

“Peter still have the gallery downtown?”

“Yes, and he’s making a push for Samuel to show there.” Roberto was looking at Noah as if he was expecting a response.

“Samuel’s my partner, not my boy. That’s his choice. Peter would be a step up in the art world, and Samuel can handle the other side of him.”

“He’ll push a submissive.”

“And Samuel will be sweet, polite, and not move a muscle,” Noah said with a laugh. “You don’t know him well enough yet.”

Roberto gave Noah a long look, his eyes taking in Jonah also. Jonah blushed under the long gaze.

“You never were conventional,” Roberto finally said.

“They suit me.”

“I have to use the bathroom,” Jonah mumbled, squirming out from under Noah’s arm. He couldn’t stay here any longer. He couldn’t manage the scrutiny.

“Second door.” Noah let him go.

The bathroom was dark red with the solar system painted on the ceiling. Jonah stared up at the rings of Saturn and fingered his hair back into place. He didn’t want to look at his face. He knew it would show the telltale evidence of crying. He was a man; he wasn’t supposed to do this; he wasn’t supposed to want this. He splashed water around and flushed the toilet. Noah would notice if he didn’t hear the toilet.

“That was blatant for a boy with you. Are you two all right?” That was Roberto’s voice, composed and authoritative.

Jonah leaned against the sink. He’d never be composed again. He was a mess. No, he wasn’t looking at himself. Jonah could hear the voices drifting through the wall.

“Fine,” Noah said.

“That’s an evasive answer if I ever heard one. That boy blatantly told you no. I hope you made him aware of that.”

“It’s not that simple with him.”

“I’m not unaware of his history; his accent is obvious, but he craves submission. Be the dominant he needs.”

“I’m not putting him on a leash naked at my feet.”

“Don’t dismiss it as farfetched. You’re making him find the line between being your submissive and being an ordinary guest in my home. He can’t find it. Make him focus on you, be his world.”

“He’s not a naive twenty-year-old.”

“He is naive about submission. Look at him. He’s tall and broad, and let’s face it he’s a straight acting guy. There wasn’t any place for a submissive boy in Texas. Even here he doesn’t look the part.”

“Submission is in the brain, not the body type.”

“Noah, don’t bite my head off. I know it. I’m only pointing out what Jonah is going to feel from those around him. You have to make up for it.”

Jonah opened the bathroom door with a clatter. He shouldn’t have been listening. He didn’t look like a submissive. Would he ever be able to do this?

“Jonah.” Noah patted the sofa next to him.

Jonah kept his eyes down. He didn’t want to look at Roberto, but more he didn’t want to see the concern and kindness in Noah’s eyes. It would be easier if he saw revulsion or loathing or drunken anger. Jonah knew how to handle those emotions. He wasn’t a good submissive. He was no better at this than he had been at being straight. Noah and Samuel deserved better.

Noah clicked his fingers and pointed at the sofa. “Boy, now.”

Jonah’s eyes snapped up before dropping back to the floor. Noah didn’t call him boy in that tone. It was almost always Jonah, especially in front of strangers.

“Good boy.” Noah snagged Jonah’s belt loops and pulled him down on the sofa. “We can do the floor if you prefer,” Noah whispered in Jonah’s ear.

Jonah vigorously shook his head. He could barely manage kneeling alone; he wasn’t doing it with an audience. He shouldn’t have come; he shouldn’t be wearing a collar.

Roberto sighed and tapped an elegant finger on the sofa arm. “This boy doesn’t know how to submit. His error today was as much his master’s as his own.” Roberto walked over to an intricately carved set of cabinets; each door featured a different saint. “Use these.” He dropped a blindfold and a set of leather cuffs in Noah’s lap. “Pleasure and pain, punishment and reward.”

“It wasn’t his fault.” Jonah jumped to his feet, shaking off Noah’s restraining hand. “It was mine. I’m the one who hit you.”

“Be quiet,” Roberto said with a chill in his voice that could have made a glacier feel warm. “You are a collared submissive. Your behavior is the responsibility of your dominant. You’re not a bad boy,” Roberto said, his tone thawing, “or you don’t want to be. Noah wouldn’t have a boy who was intentionally naughty, but you’ve promised Noah submission, and you don’t give it to him. It’s Noah’s job to find a path to bring you to that submission that you’ve promised, that you desire. Take him home, Noah. You have work to do.”

*****

Jonah sat in the kitchen, his fingers playing with the food from Roberto’s. It was good food, maybe fussy with the pastries and fancy spreads, but good. Noah hadn’t mentioned a word of Roberto’s lecture. He and Samuel talked about art, leaving Jonah to sit in strained silence. 

“Jonah, go in the bedroom, strip, and lie face down on the bed.”

Jonah stumbled to his feet. Noah had never given him such orders. Jonah knew his eyes were questioning and that his steps were hesitant.

“Go on, boy. I’ll be right there.”

Noah had gone in the bedroom right when they had returned home. Towels were spread over the comforter, and the blinds had been tilted, blocking the sharpest rays of the sun.  Jonah’s fingers shook as he struggled with the buttons on his shirt. The two leather manacles lay on the pillow. He’d never noticed that the headboard was cutout in perfect places to secure a captive’s hands.

What was Noah going to do to him? Jonah touched the smooth leather of the cuff. Noah had never hurt him; Noah understood what Jonah needed.

“I said strip.” Noah was propped against the wall, his arms folded and his expression stern. “Was that directive unclear?”

“No.” Not unclear. Jonah had meant to undress. His shirt was partially open, but his hands had moved no further. He clutched the leather cuff in his fist and waited for his sentence. He had been disobedient.

“Stand up.” 

Noah’s long legs swallowed the ground between the wall and the bed. He stood facing Jonah, not touching but close enough that his breath felt warm against Jonah’s face, and Jonah fought to not step back, his body fenced in by the bed and Noah’s bulk. Noah’s fingers gently unclenched Jonah’s fist, taking the manacle from his hand and tossing it on the bed.

“You’ll enjoy this if you let go.”

Was that a challenge? Jonah felt his pulse bounding in his neck. Noah was much too close; his scent was flooding Jonah’s brain. Hot fingers touched his skin and started on the buttons. His shirt was off, tossed casually into the chair. The hand stroked down his belly, unfastened his belt, pulled it through the loops, and added it to the untidiness on the chair. Noah’s lips touched Jonah’s. The kiss deepened as Noah’s fingers worked Jonah’s pants down. Jonah’s arm reached to touch Noah.

“Be still, boy. I’m driving,” Noah said, stepping back and leaving Jonah wanting with his pants tangled around his knees. “I’m touching. You’re just going to take it.”

Jonah shivered. Why did that sound so inviting but paradoxically so frightening? He should pull his pants up. He should walk away. He did neither. He stood and waited.

“My good boy.” Noah kissed the side of Jonah’s neck, his teeth scraping against the sensitive skin. Noah’s hands stoked down Jonah’s body, touching the thighs and groin more than was proper before pushing Jonah’s pants to his ankles. “Step out.” Noah left the pants in a heap on the floor, bent and removed Jonah’s socks one by one. “Almost there.” He stood, his hands again playing on Jonah’s chest and abdomen before diving into Jonah’s boxers and touching all that was hidden. With a sharp jerk, Noah exposed Jonah to the air and the world. “On the bed.”

The slap wasn’t hard, but on Jonah’s inflamed skin, it scrambled his brain and sent him flying for the bed. He was on the bed, Noah kneeling over him. He could feel Noah’s jeans against his thighs.

“Breathe.” Noah kissed Jonah’s neck and traced Jonah’s arms, moving them out into an x pattern. The leather of the manacles slid around Jonah’s wrist. “Hands on the headboard. You are bound by my word. Do not move.”

That moan had been from Jonah. He curled his fingers around the headboard, shivering as Noah trailed kisses down his back.

“Steady we have a long way to go.” 

Noah shifted his weight, lifting off of Jonah as he reached for the nightstand. Jonah smelled lavender and heard Noah rubbing his hands together. He turned his head to watch.

“No moving.” Noah turned Jonah’s head back toward the wall. “Should I use the blindfold?”

“No,” Jonah whispered and clenched his fingers tighter on the headboard. 

“Shut your eyes. I want you to feel, not think, not anticipate.”

Noah’s fingers were slick, strong, and hot. He pressed hard on Jonah’s shoulders, working the oil deep into the knotted muscles. Jonah shifted, unconsciously twisting to move the fingers. He yipped as a sharp slap landed on his thigh.

“Be still.”

“God,” Jonah groaned as the fingers dug into his neck.

“Haven’t you ever had a massage?”

Jonah snorted, “I’m from Texas, remember. Massage is the devil’s work. It leads to sex.”

“Well, in our case that’s where it’s going.” Noah laughed and slid his hands down Jonah’s torso in long strokes. “Relax. Let me give you this pleasure.”

Jonah groaned. It felt fabulous. He felt fabulous; he was melting into the bed. Noah’s hands kneaded the still warm flesh of Jonah’s buttocks. Jonah’s legs fell open. Surreptitiously, he rubbed against the towels.

“Ah!” The pain overlaid the pleasure, making both sharper.

“Be still,” Noah hissed, landing another sharp flick to the inside of Jonah’s thighs.

“I need...” Oh, God, Jonah was babbling. His voice sounded like one of those awful porn movies on the internet. “Touch me.”

“My pace, boy. You will lie here and take it.”

It wasn’t torture exactly. Noah’s hands felt good. It was mind shattering pleasure. Jonah could only will Noah to touch him in all the places where his body was begging. Noah’s hands disappeared. Jonah shuddered as a silk cloth slid over his neck and shoulders.

“I’m going to blindfold you now.”

Jonah hadn’t been blindfolded since playing with a birthday piñata at six. It was dark; he could feel the smooth cloth pressing against his eyelids.

Noah’s fingers tapped Jonah’s wrists. “Let go. Turn over.” Noah guided Jonah’s hands into place. “Don’t move.”

Jonah yelled and bucked against the bed. Noah’s teeth had grazed his chest.

“You need practice. Don’t move.” Noah’s voice was warm and full of laughter. He licked Jonah’s shoulder, and again his teeth trapped Jonah’s sensitive nipple.

Jonah panted, grasping the headboard with all his strength. He wanted to touch; he wanted to move. 

“Better.” Noah’s tongue grazed Jonah’s navel and then a wet tongue took a single swipe down Jonah’s straining erection.

“Eek!” Undignified, high pitched, and ridiculous but it tumbled out of Jonah’s mouth anyway. “God! Please!”

“You have my permission to come.” Noah swallowed Jonah’s cock in his mind numbing warmth and heat.

Jonah came. He hadn’t come like that ever, not even as a teenager. He’d been too afraid, locked in the shower behind two bolted doors. Noah had to be swallowing; his mouth was still hot and wet around Jonah’s spurting cock.

“Oh, God.” Jonah slumped against the pillows. “You killed me.” Noah let Jonah slip from his lips; his hands stoked Jonah’s chest and then held firmly against Jonah’s shoulders. The kiss was uncompromising and demanding. Jonah’s mouth fell open to the invading tongue, and he tasted himself. Liquid passed from Noah’s mouth to Jonah’s.

“Swallow,” Noah whispered, removing his lips from Jonah’s.

It was Jonah’s seed, slimy and disgusting. Jonah didn’t usually swallow; he hated the taste. He wanted to spit it out.

Noah tapped Jonah’s nose. “Swallow.”

Jonah swallowed. 

“Good boy.”

Those two little words wrapped around Jonah’s mind and heart. He sighed and went limp on the bed. He hardly noticed Noah removing the blindfold and tucking him under the sheets.

“Sleep.”

Jonah mumbled something incoherent about Noah.

“Don’t worry. I’ll drag Samuel away from his paints, or I’ll use my hand. I’m a man of many talents. Now sleep.”