Velvet Memories

Prologue
Workshop Title: Creative Wax Play

Presenter(s): Master Sin and Kendra

Fire and Ice, Heaven and Hell… Experience sensation play at its most fundamental level. See your submissive melt under the slow, sensual slide of hot wax, only to shudder in delicious agony under the bite of ice skillfully plied by your expert hand.

Workshop covers basic safety issues, but is focused on sensation and edge play and the use of wax as a tool in helping your submissive find their headspace and complete surrender.

Seats: 5 seats available for Velvet Ice members attending with a partner

3 seats available for Velvet Ice members attending solo

1 seat available for non-member attending with a partner

1 seat available for non-member attending solo

Non-members are subject to background check and interview.

*

Club Velvet Ice. Mysterious, alluring and notorious—particularly in certain circles—the club was the holy grail of playgrounds to both Dominants and submissives in the Metro-Detroit area.

Membership was limited and the vetting process, Rob had discovered, was brutal, beginning with sponsorship by a member in good standing, including an extensive, intrusive background and financial check, and ending with an interview he’d heard was on par with his most intense cross examination.

Rob, with no member contacts, hadn’t even made it to the background check.

That was until Derek Thomas, a partner at his law firm, pulled a gold coin out of his pocket while digging for change for the parking meter.

Derek’s patronage had been enough to get Rob in the door for the Wax Play Workshop, and he had no intention of squandering the opportunity.

The club was dimly lit as a tall, attractive blonde led him to the third floor and into an open sitting area. The rich interior was sensual and erotic. Scattered about were several velvet couches, mixed in with various BDSM equipment. A St. Andrew’s Cross dominated one corner. Several special play chairs and tables waited with delicious menace. It was a cornucopia of dark pleasure.

“Welcome.” A deep male voice drew his attention to the small staging area set up in the center of the space. “For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Master Sin. This afternoon we’ll be reviewing the basics of wax play, but focusing on the sensory elements of scenes involving hot wax.”

Master Sin was hot as hell with his long hair and bronze skin. He extended his hand, and a lush, lovely woman joined him on stage. Rob recognized the expensive jewelry wrapped around her neck as a collar.

Rob felt a slight sting; it had been way too long since he’d had a steady submissive in his life. Longer still since he’d partnered with someone who meant anything to him. And if he were going to be honest with himself, which he’d vowed to do once he’d recognized his Dominant cravings for what they were, he had to admit that even in the few longer-term relationships he’d had there’d always been something lacking. Such ruthless honesty had first led him to the acceptance that nine times out of ten, he preferred his play partners to be male, an admission ten years too late to do him much good.

Then he’d had to work out that he was looking for a special sort of submissive. One who could be topped, but who could also challenge him and hold his attention. Someone smart and confident. Someone secure in who he was, comfortable in his own body.

Rob gave a little internal sigh. He was beginning to wonder if such a submissive even existed.

Master Sin sat in a chair facing them, and his sub moved gracefully around the semicircle of chairs, handing out slender pamphlets to the participants.

“As you know, BDSM play is all about being safe, sane and consensual. There is no room for maybe—especially when we are talking about edge play. Because of the possibility of serious burns, wax play definitely falls into the edge play category.”

The Master was undeniably gorgeous, but somehow he didn’t arouse anything more than surface appreciation. When his submissive sat on a cushion at his feet and Master Sin began to play absently with her hair, the envy Rob felt wasn’t sexual, it was entirely for the intimacy which so clearly existed between them.

“My wife Kendra and I have experimented with wax play and have both found it very enjoyable.” The woman gave Master Sin a melting smile, and the man’s piercing eyes softened for a moment. “One of the things that makes it possible for us to experiment with this sort of scene is the fact we have complete trust in each other.”

The Master lit a candle and held it up as the group contemplated his words.

Complete trust. What a novel idea. Did anyone really have anyone’s complete trust anymore? Rob watched the flame reflected in Sin’s dark eyes, and found his mind wandering.

Unbidden, he pictured a lean male body stretched across a weight bench. Blue eyes glowing as intensely as the candle flame that seemed to almost hypnotize him. The first, tentative moments of trust, crushed by fear and insecurity.

Rob sighed again and forced his attention back to the presentation, quickly becoming caught up in the low timbre of Master Sin’s smoky voice.

“Waxing is a total experience. It doesn’t start or stop with the application of the wax. When playing out a full scene there is usually an intense build-up before one drop is ever spilled. It also doesn’t end after the wax has set. Taking it off can be as erotic as the application.”

Rob’s attention never wavered as he listened to the other Dom talk about using paraffin wax, dropping it at varying heights over various parts of the body. This seemingly simple form of play was actually quite complicated, and there were a lot of things to keep track of.

The longer the lecture continued the more excited he became. Rob’s cock gave a throb when Master Sin discussed the various methods of removing the cooled wax from a willing body. The list was long and varied but a secret thrill moved up his spine when the discussion moved to blades. While they weren’t the only implement one could use, they were the one that played to Rob’s personal fantasy.

He pictured a short sword, ancient and deadly, stroking over smooth, golden skin. No blood, no pain, but the delicious threat of both holding him and his submissive on the edge of ecstasy.

He couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever play with someone who would trust him enough to go there.

Master Sin stood, offering his hand to help his submissive to her feet, and yanked Rob’s attention back to the present.

“Since we’ve covered the basics, my beautiful submissive has volunteered to allow me to demonstrate on her just how fucking incredible a scene using wax can be.”

* * * *

Michael swallowed back a sigh as Kendra dropped her white silk robe and slid onto the table her Master had prepared, settling comfortably on her back. Her skin glowed pale against the black plastic tablecloth and her auburn hair burned like a flame. He’d played with Master Sin and Kendra on occasion and, though he preferred male partners, he’d found Kendra’s mixture of sweet innocence and carnal flame made partner play both fun and scorching hot.

Master Sin began by massaging a light coat of baby oil over Kendra’s body. She arched and wriggled under his touch, and Michael wriggled a bit himself, knowing exactly how Master Sin’s hands felt on slick, warm skin.

Sinclair was speaking as he prepared Kendra, explaining the types of candles he’d prepared, and the different methods of applying the wax. Since this was all old information to Michael, he took a moment to look over the group gathered in a semi-circle around the staging area. He recognized several Doms, some by sight, some by name. Many had brought their own submissives to practice on, like Master Sin and Kendra. He felt a brief pang at the sight of Kendra’s jeweled collar. It had been almost a year since his last monogamous contract had ended, and even that had been more a matter of convenience than an emotional match.

Looking for a distraction, he turned his attention to the workshop attendees, and found his gaze caught by one of the non-members. The man was exactly Michael’s type. Wide shoulders filled out an obviously expensive black silk shirt, and black leather pants wrapped snugly around thick, muscular thighs. The unknown Dom had dark brown hair, cut short and tight, and a strong jaw rough with dark stubble. The urge to wriggle came back with a vengeance; the man was Michael’s every wet dream come to life.

Then, as if he could feel Michael’s eyes, the man turned his head and looked straight at him.

Michael caught his breath in a rush as dark eyes locked on him. From a distance they could be brown or even black, but Michael knew they were green; a green so dark it only showed in the sunlight. A green that lightened to emerald when the man was with any strong emotion.

Of course the man was his type. Hell, he was the basis of the type, the original model that had infiltrated every one of Michael’s fantasies and overshadowed every one of his lovers for the last ten years.

Robert Hilton. Whoever would have guessed?

Chapter One

Ten Years Ago

Michael was freaking freezing. Detention had let out fifteen minutes earlier and he, along with his fellow felons, had been booted out of the school to await their rides in the December chill. No late buses—oh, no, not for detainees. Michael snorted derisively, watching his breath plume in the air. All the other kids had been picked up promptly at five thirty. Of course none of them were friends of his, so none bothered to offer him a ride. Mom wasn’t answering her cell phone, which meant she was probably pulling an extra shift at the restaurant, and that meant Michael needed to head for the city bus stop. Dammit.

To add insult to injury, he’d been set up. As much as he’d wanted to draw a caricature of Mr. Butler, he hadn’t done it. Hell, if he’d done it, it would have been a lot better quality. He was probably lucky all he’d gotten was detention, though. A suspension would look way bad on his record, and he wasn’t going to let anything mess with his scholarship to the Detroit Art Institute. Not even asshole World Geography teachers.

Michael sighed and started down the concrete steps to the path leading around the building. Might as well get walking. At least there was a shelter at the bus stop. He was heading down the driveway when three cars whipped past him, honking and revving their engines.

Perfect. Wrestling practice was letting out. Michael moved to the side of the driveway, getting as close to the edge as he could without actually stepping into the snow. He didn’t actually think any of the wrestlers would run him down, but it wasn’t something he particularly wanted to put to the test.

A car pulled up next to him and slowed, and Michael felt his shoulders tense up. He’d never really been bullied, but he’d never been caught alone like this either. So when the window rolled down, he was ready for pretty much anything.

“Hey, Mikey.” Rob Hilton was the captain of the wrestling team, the captain of the football team, and starting pitcher on the baseball team. He was also six feet two inches of hard muscle, with a smile that could melt ice and a dimple that made Michael want to lick chocolate out of it.

“Hey, Robbie,” he answered with an irritated smirk. He wouldn’t go so far as to say he and Rob were friends. They lived down the street from each other, had been in the same classes for their entire school careers and with last names both ending in “H,” they’d been seated close to each other for-practically-ever, but Rob was a jock, a popular kid, practically king of the school, and Michael was just … just another student.

“Right, right,” Rob smirked back at him. “Sorry, Michael.” Rob had given him grief about his name for as long as Michael could remember, and he figured the jackass probably always would. “Anyway, you wanna ride? I’m heading straight home.”

“Oh hell yes!” Any irritation melted at the thought of the heater in Rob’s Explorer.

Home was a twenty-minute drive in traffic, so Michael settled in, heat vents aimed directly at his face.

“So,” Rob cast a wicked smile in his direction, and Michael reminded himself that, unlike him, Rob liked girls. “I hear you shared your vision of Mr. Butt-head with the senior class.”

“Nope. Wasn’t me.” Michael rolled his eyes at Rob’s disbelieving snort. “Seriously, dude. Did you see it? I could do ten times better with my left hand.”

Rob laughed a little. “Yeah, I guess so. You always were into the Play Doh and finger paints.”

“Yeah, well, we can’t all be brainless jocks, Robbie.”

This time Rob’s laugh was full and rich, and his damned dimple winked at Michael, beckoning like a candle flame to a moth. “That’s what I like about you, Mikey,” he chuckled. “You aren’t intimidated by me in the least.”

“Hard to be intimidated by someone you once saw eating his boogers,” Michael shot back with a small smile of his own.

“Oh, so untrue,” Rob groaned. “Slander!”

They arrived at Michael’s house first, and as the truck idled in his driveway, Michael realized Rob was peering down the street toward his own house, which looked every bit as dark and cold as Michael’s. He knew he’d regret it, knew Rob would turn him down and even if he didn’t, spending any time with the guy was bound to be torture, but the words came out before he could stop them.

“Hey, looks like my mom’s working late again. I was gonna nuke a pizza and watch Troy for Mr. Cutter’s extra credit. Do you wanna come in?”

Rob looked surprised, then pleased. Then surprised he was pleased. Michael suppressed a groan. Such a bad idea. Then Rob smiled, more tentative than his usual sunshiny beam, but somehow sweeter.

“Sure. God knows I could use the extra credit. English is so not my thing.”

“Brainless jock,” Michael teased, ducking the fist swinging playfully in his direction. “Okay, Forrest Gump. C’mon inside.”

*

Three hours and a frozen pizza later, Rob was sprawled out next to him. Somehow those long legs were stretched the length of the couch, size thirteen feet draped over Michael’s legs.

Michael cast a surreptitious look up the length of Rob’s thighs. They were thick and muscular, and Michael had to force himself to look away before his gaze reached the place where they joined because Rob. Wasn’t. Gay.

“That wasn’t bad.” Rob stretched arms overhead, long body taut and way too tempting for Michael’s peace of mind.

“Totally inaccurate, but not bad.” Michael busied himself with the remote; anything to distract himself from the way Rob’s Henley had pulled up during his stretch, baring a slice of lean belly.

“Inaccurate how?” Rob looked interested. He also looked like he wasn’t thinking of moving any time soon.

“Well, the war lasted years, not weeks. Agamemnon didn’t die. Oh, and Patroclus was Achilles’ lover, not his cousin.”

Rob blinked slowly, then blinked again and seemed to notice the way he was draped all over Michael and the couch, and sat up with a jerk.

“Okay, that’s just stupid,” he argued. “They were warriors, not queers.” He flushed and shot Michael a sideways look. “No offense.”

Michael hadn’t “come out” at school or anything, but he hadn’t hidden his orientation, either. Yeah, he’d dealt with some bullying, some asshole-ish behavior from the other kids, but whatever. If the dickheads weren’t giving him shit because he was gay, they were picking on Patty Jakway because she was fat. Or Phil Matthews because he was just too fucking weird to exist. Michael had never gotten a homophobic vibe from Rob in the past, but then he hadn’t really spent any time with him, either. And it would definitely make sense for a popular jock like Rob to gay bash—even if it was only verbally. So maybe his voice was a little more bitter than it needed to be when he answered.

“Right. A bunch of warriors, stuck a long way from home for years. No women—another inaccuracy—‘cuz there wouldn’t have been all those women around. No way to get off but their own hands.” Rob’s flush grew darker with every word Michael spoke, and something in Michael loved it, reveled in the bigger guy’s discomfort. “And did you watch the scene where they’re sparring? That wasn’t cousinly eye contact, dude.”

He’d had to close his eyes through most of the scene; it had appealed to him in far too many ways. All the toned bronzed skin… The teasing banter and the light of pure enjoyment in both warriors’ eyes… The way Achilles had controlled Patroclus, keeping him in line, showing him who was boss… And he’d fucking spanked him… Just the memory made Michael’s dick twitch.

“Michael,” Rob looked over, and this time he met Michael’s eyes. “Dude. I didn’t mean anything. I’m not like that.” He looked miserable, and he’d used Michael’s real name.

“Look,” Michael stood, gathering up the paper plates and napkins littering the coffee table in front of them. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter.” He carried the trash to the kitchen and dumped it in the can under the sink. When he turned to head back, he was startled to find Rob right behind him, dirty glasses in his hands. One step and he’d be right up against the taller guy’s chest, which would be a mistake because, again, Rob. Wasn’t. Gay. Maybe if he tattooed it to the insides of his eyelids, Michael’s dick would get the idea and stop twitching every time he looked at the guy.

Rob set the glasses in the sink, and put one hand on Michael’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.” Just that, plainly spoken with no excuses. Those dark green eyes met his, serious and missing their usual mischievous twinkle.

The moment stretched and the space between them filled up with silence. A strange stillness gripped Michael, something he’d never felt before. He felt the hair on his arms stand on end. The deep green of Rob’s eyes grew lighter, a thin rim around pools of black as his pupils expanded. The hand on Michael’s shoulder tightened, and so did something in Michael’s groin. And, fuck it all, Rob was not gay.

“Mike? I’m home. Whose car is outside?”

Michael’s mother’s voice cut through the weird moment like a razor. Like the sword Achilles had spanked Patroclus with. Rob’s eyes went wide and he jerked away from Michael like he’d been shocked.

“Uh.” Michael had never seen Rob less than composed. Had never seen him at a loss for words. Rob visibly pulled himself together, and turned as Michael’s mom walked into the kitchen. “It’s mine, Mrs. Henderson. We were just watching a movie. For school,” he added quickly. “Not for, like, anything else.” His cheeks were stained deep red, and he headed for the door like the room was on fire. “Thanks for the pizza, Mikey,” he muttered. “Later, dude.” And he was gone, pulling his coat on as he jogged to his car.

“Not for, like, anything else?” Michael’s mom had one eyebrow raised as Rob whipped out of the driveway.

“That’s right,” Michael agreed, because it was true. That was all Rob had come for, to watch a movie for school and to put off being alone in an empty house for a few hours. That bizarre moment didn’t mean anything, and Michael was going to just put it out of his head.

“Whatever you say, baby.” His mom ran an affectionate hand through his hair, pushing his bangs off his forehead. “Did you eat?” And everything was almost normal again.

* * * *

Rob froze in the doorway of the weight room when he saw who the sole occupant was. Shit. He’d known Mikey had some muscles, he’d seen him in a bathing suit during gym, but he’d never thought about how he’d gotten them.

He’d avoided Michael all week, since the incredibly strange moment Tuesday night when Michael’s blue eyes had suddenly seemed almost neon, and the space between their chests had taken on the weight of an anvil.

He’d watched that damned movie a dozen or more times in the last two days. No, to be perfectly honest, he’d watched that damned scene a dozen or more times. Suddenly the universe seemed tilted. Achilles and Patroclus, lovers. The way their bodies worked together, the way the air between them crackled… it was all terrifying and inexplicably hot. But what was really freaking him out was the way his dick had come to life at the sight of Achilles smacking Patroclus’ ass with his sword.

He’d gone online, had researched Achilles specifically, and Greek warriors in general. He’d learned about pederasty, which skeezed him out; but he’d also learned of the bond between the erastes, the lover, and his eromenos, his beloved. The ancient Greeks hadn’t looked down on gay men. They hadn’t actually even acknowledged homosexuality. It was all a part of a guy’s education. You rubbed off against your teacher who, hopefully, wasn’t a fat, cigarette-smoke-reeking slug like Mr. Ravi, and then you eventually grew up and married a woman. Easy peasy.

So, if it was so easy, why had he woken up the last two mornings with his sheets damp and sticky, and the image of Michael naked and gleaming, his mouth pink and swollen, burning behind his eyes.

Now, because he’d had to make up a test for Mr. Ravi, he was late for his workout, and Michael and his muscles were spread out in front of him like a taunt.

He had every intention of walking away. He’d rig some sort of workout system at home. No way was he risking interacting with Michael after the weirdness of the movie, and the even bigger weirdness of his dreams. Even so, Rob still somehow found himself approaching the weight bench.

Suddenly he was standing over Michael, and those pale blue eyes were blinking up at him in surprise. A tentative smile curved his full mouth, and Rob found himself licking his own lips.

“Perfect timing,” Michael said, sliding down on the weight bench and sitting up. “I need to add more weight, but I need a spotter.” His uncertain smile flickered when Rob didn’t answer immediately. “Never mind,” he started, and Rob shook his head sharply.

“No problem, dude.” No way was he going to give in to the weirdness. If he ran like a little girl, he’d be admitting something was wrong, and he wouldn’t let that be true. He made a brief gesture for Michael to go ahead and add on some weight, then stood back while the other guy slid back under the barbell.

“Set of ten?” Michael nodded in acknowledgement, and Rob moved in and slid his hands into position under the heavy weight. He deliberately ignored the way the tilt of his body put his crotch almost directly over Michael’s face. And if Michael was looking at his junk, well he ignored that, too.

“One…” he counted for Michael, who was now entirely focused on his lifting. Rob was focused on the lifting, too. Focused on the way Michael’s pale skin gleamed with a sheen of sweat; on the way his muscles and veins popped with the strain.

“Four, five…” Those full lips were pressed flat, pulled slightly back in a grimace. He sucked in air, and Rob was almost hypnotized by the way his belly hollowed, putting his ribcage in sharp relief. A lot of the guys lifted without a shirt on, but this was the first time Rob had really paid attention. Now he wondered with a sort of terror if he’d ever be able to ignore it again.

“Eight, nine…” Michael was grunting now with every lift. His arms were shaking just a tiny bit, and Rob dragged his attention back to the task of spotting. No way was he going to let Michael get hurt because he was busy with his tongue hanging out at the way that one bead of sweat was trailing down Michael’s chest before pausing on his nipple.

Fuck.

“Ten.”

Oh, thank God.

Instead of sliding free and sitting up, though, Michael seemed to sink into the bench. Arms falling limp over his head, he just laid there with his eyes closed and kept dragging in air. Rob raked his gaze the length of Michael’s body. It didn’t mean anything, just like the ancient Greeks.

He had a boner, a raging one and as he ate Michael up with his eyes, he realized the other guy did, too. His eyes whipped upward, taking in Michael’s slightly open mouth and the way those blue eyes were now locked on his face.

He was moving again, body working without his brain’s permission, sliding around to stand beside the weight bench. Michael was so hot, so vulnerable, and Rob needed to touch him. He’d never felt like this, like every inch of his skin was sensitized, like every cell in his body was just waiting for the sensation of skin on skin.

Fuck standing next to the weight bench. Rob moved to straddle the bench, to straddle Michael’s body, supine and still beneath him.

“What…?” Michael’s hand raised, pressed palm down on Rob’s chest. No. He didn’t give Michael a chance to finish, just caught the slender, long-fingered hand in his own and pushed it back over Michael’s head. “Rob?”

The confusion in those blue eyes, the hesitation in his voice, it just made Rob flat-out crazy. He loved it like this, having Michael all but helpless beneath him, confused and floundering. Nothing had ever been this hot. Not the first time Andrea Zeller sucked him off in the baseball dugout. Nothing.

“Hush,” he muttered, pressing his thumb over Michael’s mouth before the other guy could keep talking and shatter the moment. He was pressing hard, and the full, damp lips parted a little, giving him a hint of smooth, slick teeth. “Just shut up, dude.”

Michael shut up, but he wasn’t passive. His hands lifted and locked around Rob’s wrists, and his eyes clashed with Rob’s, confusion bleeding into frustration. Rob moved quickly, terrified the moment was going to slip away; terrified this spell would somehow break and it would be him and Mikey in the weight room and all weird again instead of this … this whatever the fuck it was that had to do with power and sweat and hard dicks straining against soft fleece workout pants.

It didn’t take much effort to catch both Michael’s hands and press them back high over his head. Rob locked his fingers over Michael’s wrists, pressing him hard into the weight bench. The new position stretched him out over Michael’s body, pressed them chest to chest, and let his dick nestle naturally along Michael’s. His breath stuttered in his chest, or maybe Michael’s did, and everything went white for a second as he felt the hot ridge of Michael’s dick against his, the dampness of their pants seeping hotly into his skin and the warm jiggle of his balls against Michael’s thigh swirling through him in a rush of static.

It all came back in a flood when Michael made the most incredible noise, not quite a sob, but more than a whimper, and arched into him like he was trying to dig through the layers of their pants and get to Rob’s dick through sheer force of will. Michael’s desperation, the frantic twisting of his body and the soft, choked-off sounds he was making filled Rob’s head, but instead of freaking him out—because, after all, Michael was a guy—Michael’s complete loss of restraint filled Rob with a soul-deep calm.

Oh, his dick was still hard enough to hit a baseball with, but all at once Rob was in complete control of himself. Michael tugged at his wrists, and Rob’s hips jerked in reaction. Okay, he was mostly in control of himself.

Just like Achilles, just like the Greeks, Rob was working with Michael. Training. Not having sex. Not gay. Just a little stress relief.

Michael’s legs were spread wantonly open, straddling the bench, and Rob took full advantage, bending his knees to settle deeper against the straining body beneath him. He burrowed down, wriggling until the base of his dick pressed into the giving flesh of Michael’s balls. Michael made a choked cry again, and one leg lifted, wrapping around Rob’s hip and opening Michael up even more for the press of Rob’s body.

So fucking good. Their pants, damp with sweat and pre-cum, created a soft abrasion that was blowing Rob’s mind. Michael’s, too, if the way he was jerking his hips in time with Rob’s slow grinding was any indication.

Leaning up, Rob fumbled until he was holding both Michael’s wrists in one hand, his free hand coasting down the sweat-slick length of Michael’s torso. Hot, silky skin jumped and shivered beneath his rough fingertips. He hooked his fingers under the elastic waist of Michael’s pants and tugged. They both caught their breath, then groaned when the press of their bodies together kept him from doing more than bunching the pants low on Michael’s hips.

With an almost soundless curse, Rob lifted up just enough to yank his pants down enough to bare his dick, then to drag Michael’s pants down around his thighs. The sight of Michael’s prick, thick and hard and long, with a fat head glazed and shiny with pre-cum, almost broke the spell, almost made this about sex, and not some archaic warrior’s ritual. But then Michael shifted and his erection swayed up, brushing against Rob’s, and the resulting sparks burned away reality.

He dropped down hard enough to startle a low oomph out of Michael, and rubbed his balls all over his captive’s prick. It was so silky against him, hot and hard and nothing like the time he’d rubbed off on Stacie’s thighs. It was strength against strength. It was the strain in his hand and arm from keeping Michael’s wrists pinned, keeping Michael helpless. It was the fire in those pale blue eyes, the strong male jaw and the surprisingly full, lush lips he absolutely did not want to kiss, because this wasn’t about sex, never mind that it was the most sexual, erotic thing he’d ever done.

He needed more, and needed it now, so he reached up and cupped Michael’s damp jaw in his hand. Tilting Michael’s head roughly he held up his palm. “Get it wet,” he said, well, more like he grunted it in time with the way his hips were thrusting, sliding his dick against Michael’s. Michael’s eyes went wide and, if possible, even hotter. Then the smaller guy slowly turned his head. Slowly opened his mouth, and slowly ran his tongue over Rob’s fingers and palm until they were drenched. Fuck. So fucking, fucking hot.

Rob was moving like a machine now, like a man in a trance, like something not human, just made of sheer lust. He kept up the motion of his hips, grinding their dicks together, but now he added in some hand action, too. Reaching down he caught both their dicks in his now slippery grasp and began to pull, jerking them together, fast and rough and paying lots of attention to their cock-heads, which were now putting out enough pre-cum to make everything slick and heady.

Michael’s hips were jerking, too. Breathless grunts escaped him with each hard tug. He’d dropped his head back on the weight bench, baring the line of his neck, and for an insane second Rob wanted to lick a trail from the base of his throat to his ear. That was crazy, though, and he distracted himself by pressing harder on Michael’s trapped wrists. Michael must have liked it because the pressure on his wrists combined with a particularly intense twist around the heads of their dicks dragged a raw sound from his throat and suddenly Rob’s hand on their dicks was beyond slick, was fucking sliding on cum, on Michael’s cum, and then on his own as he felt the orgasm wrench through him, practically turning him inside out.

He hovered over Michael, eyes closed, breath rattling in his throat, for what seemed like ages. He didn’t realize he’d let Michael’s wrists loose until one of those long, slender hands cupped his cheek. A soft touch to his mouth had his eyes snapping open just in time to see Michael lowering his head, a faint smile on his full lips. Michael’d kissed him?

All the panic and confusion he’d shoved down fountained back up and Rob scuttled backwards off the weight bench, practically landing on his ass on the floor.

“Rob? Are you okay?” Shit, Michael’s voice was all rough and deep; he sounded like he’d been having sex, but dammit sex wasn’t what had happened. It wasn’t. All his emotions must have been written on his face, because Michael sat up slowly, like he didn’t want to scare him, and spoke softly. “It’s gonna be fine, Rob. It’s a big deal, but it’s gonna be totally fine.”

“A big deal?” Rob was working hard to sound dismissive and not panicked. “There’s no big deal. Nothing happened.” He faltered a bit when he noticed the slickness on his hand, but he quickly scrubbed the spunk off on his pants and hopped to his feet.

“Look,” he continued, moving quickly toward the door, “I’m gonna wait and work out tomorrow. You just go on with your lifting.”

Michael was staring at him with wide blue eyes, clearly trying to figure out if he’d lost his fucking mind. “Uh, don’t you think we should talk about this?”

“Nothin’ to talk about, dude,” Rob stammered, backing toward the door. “Nothing at all.”

* * * *

It shouldn’t have surprised him. After all, it had been crystal clear Rob wasn’t okay with what they’d done Friday night in the weight room. Michael shivered a little at the memory. There weren’t a whole lot of openly gay guys running around Ferndale High, but even if there had been, even if he’d been touched like that by fifteen other dudes, Michael didn’t think anything would compare to the feel of Rob holding him down, the slick and rough of his hand on Michael’s prick, and the orgasm that had practically shorted out Michael’s brain.

And Rob had come just as hard, dammit. Michael knew he had. But he’d also freaked afterward, even though he wouldn’t admit it. It had been in his eyes, nearly black and almost shocky looking, and in the tense lines around his mouth.

So, knowing how freaked Rob was, it shouldn’t have surprised Michael at all to come into school Monday morning and find Rob pressing a cheerleader—Michael wasn’t sure which one, they were all tanned, blonde and had names like Sandy and Mindy—up against his locker while he used his tongue to do an inventory of her tonsils.

And maybe surprise wasn’t the right word. Maybe, though it pissed him the hell off to admit it, what he was feeling was hurt. Because he’d never even dreamed up something like what they’d done on the weight bench, and dammit all, he wanted more and he wanted it with Rob.

As if he’d heard Michael thinking his name, Rob lifted his head, lips parting from Cheerleader Barbie’s with a smacking sound as her lip gloss tried to keep them stuck together. If Rob’s eyes flickered a bit when he caught sight of Michael, well, Suction Cup Barbie fixed that by attaching her lips to the angle of his jaw, and just that easily Rob shut him out, erased what they’d done—what he’d done to Michael—with one leering smile at the pair of boobs disguised as a girl he was pressing up against the locker.

Michael took a deep breath and reminded himself there were only five months left of school. Five months until the Art Institute and, hopefully, someone who’d blow the memory of Rob Hilton out of his head forever.