The most surprising thing about Bad wasn’t that he was building a greenhouse in his backyard (Bad the gardener?) or that he wanted to start a yoga studio (Bad the yoga instructor?). The most surprising thing about Bad was that he went all bashful when Red brought up anal sex. Again.
“Let it go, Red.”
“Yeah, I don’t know if you’ve been paying attention, but you growling at me isn’t exactly a turn-off. You don’t like fucking guys in the ass? I mean, that’s okay, just, um—” Wait, was it really possible that Bad didn’t like anal sex?
“That ain’t the problem.”
“Yeah. Okay. So what is?”
“Fuck. This—I don’t want you thinking this is—we can keep doing all the rest of this shit, Red. Even if you don’t want to—fuck.”
“I do want to fuck.” Except, looking at Bad (who wasn’t looking at him), Red started thinking maybe this was kind of like don’t say “anything” to a guy like me.
Bad picked up their plates and tossed them in the sink. “Fine. I’m gonna show you something. And then we can go back to what we’ve done before, Red.”
He wanted to argue this, but now he wasn’t so sure, so he kept his mouth shut. And put the plates in the dishwasher (correctly) while Bad did whatever the hell he was doing. It was nine, almost ten, and he’d spent all damn day at Bad’s house. They’d been together for like fifteen hours now, and hadn’t had done anything kinky since Bad put the plug in. Unless he counted all the times Bad fucked with the plug, but he didn’t, not really. That hadn’t felt like kink. That had felt like…affection.
God. Stop. Stop right now. A couple of kisses don’t mean anything. Stop.
He turned, reaching for the dish towel to dry his hands. “You’re freaking me out, Bad.”
“Yeah.” Bad jerked his head. “Come on.”
Red expected to see some kind of medieval thing with a spanking bench and a vicious gas mask or something. Instead, Bad set up a computer on the lower of the two dressers in his bedroom, with a chair in front of it.
“Take off your clothes and sit down.”
The chair was wood, cool against his skin. And hard, beneath his plugged ass.
Bad hit the computer back from black screen, then hit Play on a video clip he’d queued up.
A video clip of this exact room, the bedroom, though in the video it didn’t have curtains and the bed was stripped down to a single sheet. With a guy on it.
“Oh my god,” Red whispered, leaning forward, acutely aware of Bad watching him, acutely aware of his dick.
The guy on the video was wearing a hood, solid over his eyes, open at mouth and nose. His arms were bound to the top corners of the bed, and his body was bent all the way in half so his legs were tied to the upper bed posts. His balls were tied off and there were rows of clothes pins running from his nipples to his armpits, and another row on each thigh.
Red was still taking it in when Bad entered the shot. And he could tell it was Bad just by the way he walked, even though he’d never seen Bad naked or masked.
And he was hot. Jesus. Dark hair thick on his chest, on his back, like Red just wanted to rub his face all over Bad’s body, up against his fucking pelt.
“Tell me what you want, boy,” Vid-Bad said, running a hand up one side of pins, twisting the one that was practically in the guy’s armpit.
“Fuck me, please, sir,” the guy begged, sounding strained and needy. (And yeah, Red clenched his ass against the plug, because he knew that voice, he knew exactly that voice, he had the same goddamn voice.)
“I don’t know, cocksucker. These nipples look pretty fucked to me.”
Red writhed, watching Bad torture Bound Guy’s nipples. Vid-Bad sounded younger, like his voice was rounder somehow, less edged.
“Please break me open with your cock, sir, please fuck me until I scream, please smash my balls and fuck me hard, sir, please.”
Real life Bad shifted on his feet, but Red didn’t look over. Couldn’t look over.
“I might do that,” Vid-Bad said, flicking the guy’s balls, trapped beneath a collar of rope. His other hand came up, holding another clothes pin, running it over the guy’s dick, right around the fucking crown of it, making the guy moan and squirm.
Oh, he’s not gonna like—
“Stay still,” Vid-Bad said sharply, slapping his stomach. The Bad on the screen turned toward the camera, and he could obscure his face all he wanted, but those hazel-verging-on-green eyes would be obvious to anyone who’d ever met him. He picked up the camera, turned it around so it filmed from his perspective, and began a long campaign of trash talk and clothes pins and pinching the bound guy, who fucking ate it up, moaning and begging right on cue.
This was wank-worthy. If Red had come across it online, he’d’ve bookmarked it, wishing like hell that someone would do all that to him, memorizing the whole sequence so he could close his eyes and picture it with himself tied down. Hell, this would have made the greatest hits, but at least some of that was probably because it was Bad’s voice, which he’d heard in his ears, saying such fucked up shit.
“I think you might be tender enough now,” Vid-Bad said, running one finger up Bound Guy’s sternum, in between the bright red lines where the pins had been before he twisted and tugged and eventually released all but the two directly over his nipples. Bound Guy whimpered. “Well,” Bad said, like he was reconsidering. “Almost tender enough.”
Which is when he pulled out a little wooden pointer stick and set the camera on close-up to record him hitting the shit out of bound guy’s ass crack. (Red’s ass was now fucking pulsing against the plug, like his dick was pulsing against his thigh.)
When the guy’s crack was bright fucking red and the dude was crying, Bad finally stopped, caressing Bound Guy’s leg as he told him what a good boy he was.
And damn, Red didn’t mind a sex tape, but nothing about Bad saying good boy to someone else was hot. Nothing.
“You ready, boy? You ready for my cock?”
Bound Guy begged and Red leaned forward even more, while Vid-Bad adjusted the camera again, moving it to the side, for a profile view of his dick fucking the guy.
And fuck him he did. Bad’s thick fucking dick shoved right into Bound Guy’s battered ass as Bound Guy grunted and moaned, and yeah, Red wanted that to be him, yeah, fuck yes, he wanted Bad’s dick to shove all the way in until their bodies were fucking glued together, hell yes.
Vid-Bad reached up to fuck with the clothes pins as he plowed hard into Bound Guy, but something about Bad wasn’t quite right. He was waiting. He kept going, switched to adding little clamps to Bound Guy’s dick, which looked massively fucking painful. Then he stopped moving completely, with his dick all the way in to the root, and Bound Guy stopped moaning.
“Yeah, boy,” Vid-Bad said, running his hands up and down Bound Guy’s sides.
“Time for a little ball-beating, isn’t it, boy?”
Bad pulled the guy’s dick and balls up, then splayed his hands across the guy’s stomach, like he was soothing him, before he turned and reached for the camera again, holding it up so it was trained down; now the camera was picking up his dick deep inside Bound Guy.
His non-camera hand rolled Bound Guy’s balls, flicking them with his fingernails, tapping them with his fingertips. Bound Guy’s head arched back, and he was groaning continuously as Bad worked him up.
“Ask me for more,” Bad ordered.
“More—please sir—please give me more—”
“What do you want, cocksucker?”
“Please hit my balls.”
Bad smacked the guy’s balls with four fingers and the guy’s whole body jolted, even though he was bound.
“Say, ‘please hit me again.’”
“Please hit me again, sir.”
Bad did it again, and Red was abruptly aware that he was sitting there, harder than he’d ever been sitting naked in a room with someone, watching Bad have sex while Bad watched him watch Bad have sex.
Onscreen Bound Guy was now saying, “Punch it, sir, punch it, punch it—ohhh, fuck, ow—” and Vid-Bad was saying, “That’s right, that’s right, what are these balls, boy, what do I call them?”
Bound Guy was freaking out a little, legs trying to close over his balls even as he said, “Your—your p-p-punching bag, sir—”
And Bad kept punching, again, and again, and again, knuckles loosely fisted in the space between their bodies, until Bound Guy couldn’t talk. Which is when Vid-Bad came, dropping the camera off to the side so he could pound into Bound Guy, so the camera caught Bad’s eyes looking wild as he exploded.
Real time Bad shut the computer with a snap so loud Red jumped, heart thudding in his chest.
Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit. He kept his eyes on the space where the computer screen had been, trying to will his breathing to slow down, but oh my god, that was the most intense fucking thing he’d ever seen and thought, yeah, I could do that.
He couldn’t say whatever Bad was expecting him to say. He couldn’t say fuck yes, please do that to me or fuck no, that’s way too extreme, you freak.
Which left: “So. Who’s the guy?”
“Jesus.” Bad kicked the chair out until it was facing him, leaving his foot on the edge. “The guy’s no one.”
“Well, I can tell he’s not a college kid you picked up on your lunch break because you’ve never touched me like that.”
“I’ve never punched you in the nuts?”
Fuck you, Bad. Red met his eyes. “That thing, where you were touching him on the stomach, the sides, the legs. You were soothing him. You were hurting him and soothing him at the same time.”
“That’s—fuck, Red, yeah, okay. I was. Not because of the guy. Because that’s what you do.”
“Not with me, you don’t.”
They stared at each other, and when Bad came forward, Red thought it’d be to pull his hair, maybe choke him again. Instead, one of Bad’s hands worked into his hair and the other rested on his jaw, tilting his head up. “Get on the bed, Red. And spread your legs real wide.”
But no, not yet. “Bad.”
For a second, Red didn’t dare. He took a deep breath. “I loved every fucking second of that video except when you called him ‘good boy’. You saying that shit to some random guy is a total boner-killer.”
Bad’s eyes slid shut and he pulled Red’s mouth to his in a messy, open-mouthed kiss, and Red didn’t consciously lock his arms around Bad’s neck, but there he was, suddenly clutching the man who was about to beat his balls, kissing him with everything he had.
“You sexy little bitch,” Bad whispered against his ear, and lifted him easily out of the chair. “Christ, Red, you have no fucking idea what you do to me, what you make me want to do to you.”
“If that video’s any indication—”
“Shut up, Little Red. Stop fucking talking.”
His “yes, sir” was lost in another kiss, which only broke when they landed on the bed.
“Pull your legs open wide, and hold them like that.”
Oh fuck, oh shit, Bad was pulling rope out of the nightstand drawer like all the time he needed a handy length of rope to tie off guys’ balls. (And yeah, okay, that was pretty fucking hot, actually.) He worked quickly, tying Red’s sac so his balls were trapped, then bisecting so each was on a side, and fuck, right there Red had to desperately try not to come, because Bad handling his balls was insane.
“That’s good, yeah, fuck yeah, Little Red.” He tapped Red’s balls with his fingertips a few times, and Red shuddered, hanging onto his legs as hard as he could, trying to follow orders. “Not quite done yet.” He reached for something else and Red tensed, trying not to move, trying not to breathe as Bad attached clips to his nipples.
“Ahh, fuck.” Every breath burned.
“Shh, Red. Let me distract you.” Bad stripped off his clothes, all fucking muscle and hair and strength and his now-familiar thick dick jutting aggressively out, and when he came back to the bed he had a fucking ping pong paddle.
And yeah. Distraction met. “No way. Seriously, Bad, you’re using—” The first hit, the first real hit, and Red’s body curled to the side, but Bad pulled him back, slapping his thighs open again.
“I said, stop talking.” Bad leaned over him, too fucking close, eyes boring down into his. “You can beg me to stop or you can say your word, that’s it. I won’t tolerate any fucking chatter from you, Red. And I ain’t gonna stop when you beg. In fact, I’ll probably go harder on you.”
Please, yes, god, I’d do anything, anything if you’d do that.
“Yes, sir,” he whispered, and arched up for another kiss.
“You gotta earn my kisses, boy,” Bad said, and smacked his balls with the paddle again.
“Oh, fuck, that fucking—”
Red writhed, ass shifting back and forth, legs not quite flailing.
“God, fuck, you’re a sexy, sexy little slut, Red. I want to hear you begging, boy.”
“More—” Red managed, because he sure as hell wasn’t gonna beg the man to stop.
Bad started up a tap, tap, tap, tap on his balls, increasing in impact, and Red’s brain had to suspend all thought in order to concentrate on not closing his legs. Bound Guy was fucking lucky he was bound, this was unreal.
“More! Give me more, hit me again, please, Bad— Ohhh, shit.”
The paddle came down, hard, on each thigh, alternating until he pried his legs wide again.
“Yeah,” Bad said, like he was having the time of his life. “Yeah, boy, that’s right, open up.” Smack, smack. “Pull ’em back, Red, all the way back.”
Red, panting, crying, so fucking turned on in his head that he couldn’t think, even if his dick wasn’t convinced, pulled back, and oh fuck, Bad fucking him with the plug while he rhythmically squeezed his balls was so fucked up, so hot, so wrong. He arched off the bed and Bad laughed.
“Where you going, boy? Get back here.” A hard thrust in and Red grunted. “Yeah, you like that? I’d like to fuck you with this plug still inside, boy, really open you up. Yeah, a little double penetration in your tight little pussy.” He tugged the plug loose, still playing with Red’s balls, and Red didn’t know if he was relieved or afraid.
Then Bad shoved two fingers in his ass and he was neither.
“Stay still, pussy!” The squeezing got worse, a vice crushing his balls, and Red squirmed, one of Bad’s hands holding him in place while the other one fucked him open.
The hand on his balls squeezed hard and held.
“You think you’re ready for my cock, Red?”
“You know what it means, don’t you, Red?” Bad’s fingers did some obscene dance against his prostate and Red wanted to cry and scream and explode. “Means I gotta hurt you. Means once my cock’s filling your pussy, I gotta hurt you and keep hurting you till I come. You get that, boy?”
Red whimpered, body pulled in all directions. “Yes—please—”
The fingers pulled out and Bad readjusted, never losing the grip on Red’s balls, tugging as he moved into position on his knees between Red’s legs.
Yeah, Red must have missed the part where Bad put a condom on, because he sure as shit had one on now, and the sight of it solidified the mass of desire and ache in Red’s spine. This is going to happen now.
“Open,” Bad hissed, slapping his thighs again. “You only fucking exist for me to fuck you, Little Red. That’s your fucking purpose in life. That’s the only thing you’re good for, the only worth you have in the goddamn world, is to be a hole for my fucking pleasure.” He looked right into Red’s eyes and twisted his balls. “A pussy and a set of hot fucking balls.”
“Oh—oh shit—no—fuck, stop, Bad, oh my god—”
Bad pulled and twisted as he pressed his dick against Red’s ass and Red dissolved into incoherent sounds. He was begging, he knew that, but he couldn’t tell if he was begging for Bad to stop or continue.
This, this edge, this knowledge, that he couldn’t stop it, that there would be no polite pauses to re-issue the safeword, no additional verifications, was better than any drug he’d ever been on. For once, it wasn’t up to him anymore; Bad pushed all the way in, forcing his body to part, burning a path into his ass, and even as he was doing it, he was squeezing Red’s balls like he was trying to break them.
“Yes, yes, yes, fucking yes, you little cunt, you fucking cocksucking slut, take it, Red, fucking take it, fucking take my whole cock all the way in—”
It hurt, it hurt like nothing had ever hurt him in his entire life, and that’s when Bad said, “Are you ready, boy? This is when the fun starts.”
Red couldn’t parse that, could barely stay conscious, writhing as Bad milked his balls, pinched them, pulled them, and all the time he chanted, “Yes, fuck yes, that’s right, squeeze my cock, does it burn, boy, does it hurt? Yeah, that’s right, every fucking time I hurt you, you make me feel soooo good, Red, you have no fucking idea how good you feel when your pussy clenches around my cock.”
He wanted it to end, he wanted it to last forever, he wanted Bad’s dick inside him for the rest of his life.
“Beg me,” Bad said. “Beg me, Little Red. Beg me and I’ll paint your insides.”
“Please. Please. Please.” All breaths, hardly words. “Please, Bad. Please.”
Squeeze. “Not good enough. Please what? Say it.”
Red gathered breath and focus. “Please hurt me so I know I’m yours,” he whispered, blinking tears away as he looked up at Bad. “Please hurt me, Bad, please own me, please make me scream, please—”
Bad squeezed and twisted his balls simultaneously and Red thought he’d died, that it wasn’t possible to survive this pain, except even as he was dying, Bad slammed his cock inside and grunted, squeezing just a little harder as he went still and came, his other hand biting into Red’s waist as it held him close.
“That’s right, boy. That’s right. You’re mine now. You’re all mine, Little Red.” Bad untied his balls, caressing them, and Red shuddered, unable to stop, unable to accept pleasure, unable to even tell if that’s what he was feeling because all of his wires were crossed and the worst pain was also the best sex and nothing made sense except Bad’s hand on his balls while the other touched his cheek, his neck, his side.
Red was crying. He knew that. He didn’t know why, but Bad brushed tears away, dick still deep in Red’s ass.
“You’re gonna come now, baby. I’m gonna make you come so I can feel it on my cock. You ready for this, Red?”
No. The answer was so clearly no it shouldn’t need to be said.
“Here we go, boy.” He loosened Red’s fingers, releasing his legs. “I’ll keep you open now. You need to pinch those clips on your nipples as hard as you can. You understand, Red?”
He shook his head, air hitting the tears, making him cold.
“Yeah, you do. This is how you come, Red. Hurt yourself because it makes me feel so good. Go on. Pinch the clips. Make it hurt, Red, I’ll know it if you don’t.”
Disobeying, questioning, hesitating, all were such distant concepts he ignored them. Red’s hands moved up, took hold of the clips, and pinched.
“Yes,” Bad growled, jacking him, mashing his balls. “Pinch them harder, as hard as you can, baby, do it, do it, do it—”
The world spun out into blackest night, only Red tumbling though space as everything was consumed by hurt, hot and burning and smoking, and when Bad worked the head of his dick with his entire fist, chanting, “Come, come, come, Red, come, baby, come now—” Red came, one spark of light in the middle of the black hole that was everything.
He’d never experienced anything like it. He’d never had an orgasm that left him so empty, so aching, so fucking destroyed. He’d sure as hell never hurt so much and immediately wanted to do it again.
“God, you’re the fucking hottest thing I’ve ever seen, Red.” Bad released the clips and when Red arched, Bad covered his nipples with big hands, pressing down, hurting and helping at once.
Red whimpered. There was no manly word for it, no way around. He whimpered, needing more than hands over his smoldering nipples.
“I’m pulling out.” Pulling out hurt. Everything hurt. No part of Red registered feeling comfortable or safe.
Bad dumped the condom out on his stomach, jizz mingling with jizz, and rubbed it over all the worst parts of his skin while Red just fucking lay there, staring up at him, taking it like he’d taken the pounding. Jizz on his nipples, on his thighs, on his crack, on his dick. Jizz rubbed into his sac, each ball getting attention, and he was crying again, and dizzy, and he wanted Bad to never stop touching him.
Come-covered fingers brushed the insides of his ears, his nostrils, his eyelids. Bad pressed it into his mouth and made sure he got every surface, rough fingers on Red’s tongue, his gums, his teeth. Scooping up more before going deeper, until Red gagged on his fingers, Bad looking him right in the eye the whole time.
“Yeah, boy. You’re mine now. Good boy, Little Red. You’re such a good boy.”
Red curled in, still making sounds he couldn’t control, part-sniffle, part-purr. He wanted to say something rash like I love you or when can we do it again? But no, no, don’t speak, don’t ruin it, just be here, in this moment, because you might never get another.
“There, boy,” Bad murmured, brushing through his hair now. “God, Red, what you do to me.”
He expected Bad to get up, to get him up, to load him into the truck, dump him back off at school. That had been the cloud over the whole day; at any moment, Bad might be done, and then this silly dream of having someone real would pop like a bubble, leaving Red cold and alone again. But Bad tugged the blankets out, muscled Red into the bed, and covered him up.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes.” And god, fuck, did Bad just kiss his fucking forehead? Did Big Bad Charles “Officer” Campion just tuck him in to bed?
Red floated in his bubble for a while longer, and when Bad came back to bed—smelling like shampoo and skin—he spooned Red so close he almost couldn’t breathe, with one of Bad’s legs over his thigh, one of his arms around Red’s chest. Bad propped pillows until his head rested lightly over Red’s, and every breath Red breathed after that was Bad’s.
* * *
He slept hard for a long time. Or a short time. Or forever. It was hard to tell. When Red woke up, in the early, early morning, he ached. His body was a battlefield, scorched all over, and his ass felt like it had been drilled by a fucking jackhammer.
And Bad was still half on top of him. God. He almost didn’t believe last night had happened, despite the evidence, except he was asleep in Bad’s bed, with Bad, and that had to mean that something had changed.
Red couldn’t get back to sleep.
A week from now he’d be at home, and that would suck. Bad was nobody’s long-distance relationship, and Red wasn’t about to push it. Maybe they could sext, or Snapchat, or anything at all to keep from losing touch. And Red was gonna take yoga, all summer, three times a week if he had to, just to make sure when he showed up for Bad’s class in the fall, he didn’t embarrass the hell out of himself.
Bad’s yoga class was the thing keeping him going. If this was a thing where he just had to disappear for months, come back, and cross his fucking fingers that Bad might want to see him again, he’d be losing his mind. Because last night went beyond every wet dream, every fantasy. Last night it was like Bad had a direct line deep into the worst, most fucked up things Red had ever jacked off to, and he was right there with him.
If he could prove he was worthy, if he could take this thing of Bad’s and get good at it, or at least get passable at it, then he could show up in the fall and Bad would know he meant something.
And there was one other thing, which was scarier even than the idea of walking into a yoga studio where the instructor once squeezed his balls and made him come at the same time.
“I want to take you to breakfast.”
He’d, of course, chosen the wrong moment. Bad was barely awake. And hadn’t had coffee. Or taken a piss. Or opened his eyes, except to squint at Red and smile a little, before pulling Red’s body until he was almost suffocating again, so Bad could wrap around him.
“Breakfast.” Because if you’re gonna do something stupid, you might as well take it all the way. “At The Fig Leaf.”
“Don’t think they’re open yet, Red. Go back to sleep.”
Bad sighed and opened his eyes slightly wider than last time. “You sore?”
“No. Well, yeah, Jesus, you tried to fuck me to death, but no. That’s not—I just can’t go back to sleep.”
“Red. It’s fuckin’—” Bad picked up his head. “It’s fuckin’ six in the morning. Unless you want to take another run, go back to sleep.”
He definitely did not want to take another run. “You mind if I get a shower? I know this is your thing, but I’m—I—” Have to feel like I’m still myself inside my skin. “This isn’t the same.”
Bad rolled off him. “Take your shower. Go into the dryer for clothes. I threw your pansy running gear in the wash with my bras and panties, but it’s still wet.”
God, wearing Bad’s clothes? (Which, be fair, so wouldn’t fit.) Red felt a little thrill go down his spine, like he was a cheerleader and the quarterback just offered him his letterman jacket.
“We going steady now?” he asked, mouth running too fast for his internal censor.
Bad’s arm reached out, snagged him, pinned him face-down on the bed, where his other hand locked on to his neck. Smack, smack, smack. “Yeah, Red. We’re fuckin’ going steady. Take your shower.”
Ow, and ohfuck, and shitJesusdidthatreallyhappen? Red, shaking, ass smarting from the smacks, got back up and took his shower. It wasn’t a spanking. It was three smacks. Because he’d mouthed off. But they weren’t punishment, not as he understood the term. They were…affectionate. A stingy kind of affection, but how could they possibly be anything else when followed with Yeah, Red. We’re fuckin’ going steady. Nothing made sense. Except in Bad’s mind “going steady” and “surprise spanking” might actually work in concert.
He thought he’d have to tiptoe around and risk making coffee and incurring the wrath of Bad, but instead the coffee was brewing and Bad was already dressed when he got out of the shower.
“Heads up,” Bad called, tossing him a pair of sweats. “The Fig Leaf opens at seven, Red. Get a cup of coffee.”
A cup of coffee. Another one. In Bad’s kitchen. With Bad.
Oh my god, stop.
“You’ll probably want a shirt, too, genius.”
“Uh, right. Sure.” He picked through Bad’s clean clothes, which was a little weird, and found the smallest shirt he could find, a black T, pulling it over his head and trying to center the shoulders on his smaller fuckin’ frame.
Bad laughed. “Shit, boy, look at you wearing my clothes.” He landed a slap on Red’s ass as he walked by him to the bedroom. “Get your ass back here.”
Yes, sir. Red put down the coffee he hadn’t even sipped yet and followed.
“Bend over. I want to see how badly I damaged your little pussy.”
This was not happening. And Red sure as hell wasn’t blushing while Bad probed his ass with blunt, dry fingers. He tried not to make any sounds, but couldn’t help a hiss when Bad gave him another smack.
“God, I just fucking love watching that little hole tighten up. Makes me want to fuck you again, Red.”
Screw breakfast— But no. No, Red should be smart about this. His balls could not take more pounding right now. Probably.
“Turn over, boy.”
Red stood, and when Bad coaxed one leg out of the sweats, he spread himself open, heart thudding against his ribs. He should tell him he needed a little recovery time, that he still felt the echo of every single punch from last night, but Bad wasn’t doing anything yet, just probing and pressing like he had in his ass.
“Everything feel all right?” Bad asked, rolling his balls, ignoring his suddenly hard dick.
“Um. Define ‘all right’.”
Bad looked up. (And that was another thing: Bad was fucking on his knees right now, in front of him. Which, even without anything else, was so fucking hot Red might burst.) “Red.”
“Yes, sir. I mean, everything’s sore, but not in a—bad way.”
“Good.” Bad’s hand shifted up, grabbing his dick in a rough hold. “Now, now. I’m gonna have to teach this some manners, Red. We’re on our way to breakfast. It’s just damn inappropriate for your little clit to be demanding my attention when we’re on our way to breakfast.”
Bad squeezed and Red reached out, chewing on his tongue, to hold onto Bad’s shoulders.
“Please, sir—please don’t—”
“Hush, Little Red.” Bad dug in his pocket for a second and pulled out a length of cord. “Now, let’s show your cute little clitty who’s boss.” He squeezed again, making Red’s toes curl, making his fingers dig deeper into Bad’s shoulders as he tried to breathe. “Who’s your boss, Red? Who gets to say when you’re allowed to get hard?”
“You, sir. You—you’re my boss.” For the next few days. No, don’t think about that.
“That’s right. That’s damn right.”
Red had to stop watching Bad’s fingers as they wound the rope around his dick, around his balls, because it was too fucking hot, and he was supposed to be concentrating on being less fucking turned on, not more.
“There,” Bad said, flicking his dick a few times. “That’s a little better. How’s it feel, Red?”
“Secure. Very secure, sir.”
Bad grinned, the wicked, fucked up grin that Red just knew meant bad things. Incredible things. “Is that right? Let’s test it out.” Then he leaned forward and sucked in Red’s dick, the kind of suction that shot way past sexy and into ohfuck.
“Uhhhhh—” Red’s hips snapped up, desperately, pressure building everywhere until he could feel an orgasm pulsing against the cords.
Bad sat back. “That’s better.” He gave Red’s agonized balls another light smack (which felt like the ping pong paddle all over again, even though he could see it hadn’t been nearly that hard), and pulled the sweats up. “Let’s go to breakfast.”
But Red couldn’t move for a long moment, standing there, body lit up by the same vertigo as last night, unable to sort out what he wanted more of and what he wanted to stop. He was shaking, barely conscious of Bad standing in front of him.
“Yeah. You can’t even think, can you, Little Red? That’s real good.” Then Bad’s lips were on him, teasing his lips, parting them, playing in a way he hadn’t before. “Mm. You like it when all you can think about is me, don’t you, Red? Me and when I’m gonna let you come again.”
“Yes, sir,” Red whispered, closing his eyes and wishing they’d met months ago. This was fucking cruel, to find this only when it would be taken away.
“That’s fucking sexy, my little slut.” Bad kept up with the gentle kisses, and reached around to pinch his ass, both hands, over and over again until Red whimpered. “Good boy, Little Red. Let’s go eat.”
Red took a few deep breaths and nodded.
* * *
They were the first ones in the restaurant, Red in his ill-fitting clothes and his sneakers without socks. He felt weirdly jittery, like this was the first and last time he’d ever be out in public with Bad, unless you could count the Spark or the orange grove. He couldn’t concentrate on the menu, and he knew he was being a fucking spaz, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself.
“The fuck’s going on, Little Red? Ropes too tight?”
“No. Just.” He shook his head. “You’re gonna think I’m such a fucking fool.”
“Yeah? Try me.”
Red looked up, searching Bad’s face for sarcasm. Bad just looked like a guy with a long day of greenhouse building ahead of him, nothing to see here. The ropes, though. He focused on sensation. The ropes were a promise. Weren’t they?
“You remember when I told you to kidnap me and keep me in your closet?”
“Not a request I hear that often. Yeah, I remember.”
“Well, after last night, I—after last night that sounds pretty hot. Christ. I just mean, you know, that was—the worst and best sex I’ve ever had, simultaneously.”
“Worst because it was too much for you?” Bad asked, eyes going narrow.
“Fuck no. God. Worst because it’s—over. I mean, maybe we’ll do it again sometime, but it’s finals this week, and then I’m leaving, and you’ll probably fuck eighty other guys between now and when I get back, so yeah, the worst, like seeing the greatest sunset you’ve ever seen and going blind the next day.” He winced. “Jesus, that’s so dramatic. Obviously, it’s not as bad as going blind.” Except it kind of felt like it was.
“Yeah, sorry, I don’t mean to whine, I just—”
“Red, shut up.”
Red stopped talking.
“I have a guest room. You can stay for the summer.”
The words didn’t process right away, and when they did, Red thought he must have heard wrong. And the server came back with their breakfasts, but Red’s eggs were just gonna have to congeal and get gooey, because there was no way he heard what he thought he’d heard.
“Red, come on. At least look at me.”
Which he did, frowning, waiting for the other shoe to drop. This was a joke, right? Or something?
“No—strings. No obligations. I know what it’s like to be somewhere you don’t recognize yourself in the mirror. Don’t go home. Stay at my place. It’s three months, Red.” Bad ran a hand through his hair, looking less certain than Red had ever seen him look. “We don’t ever have to do that shit again, but you need a place to stay, and you can still do late registration for summer session if you get it done before Thursday, so this makes more sense than you going home.”
“The guest room?” Red heard himself ask.
“I can make room for your stuff.”
“No, I mean—I mean—” What did he mean? And why was he considering this? And oh my fucking god, why hadn’t he said yes yet?
“You could stay with me even if we weren’t fucking, Red. I like you. And I have a lot more home improvement projects I could use a few extra hands for.”
“You want me to move in with you because you got some pictures that need hanging, Bad?”
“I don’t want you to leave for three months.”
Oh my fucking god.
“And—” Red broke off when the server came back to refill their coffee, giving him an extra two minutes to agonize over his phrasing. “And the sex?” he asked, more softly now. “Would that be optional, or what?”
“Optional?” Bad cracked a smile. “Yeah, Red, clothing and fucking optional. But that’s not why I’m offering.”
“Then why?” This was the important question. This was the thing that would tell Red if he had to say no and save himself, or if he should take a chance on everything not sucking for once.
“Because I can’t stop fucking thinking about you. Because you asked how to load the dishwasher. Hell, Red, I don’t know, but I don’t want you to leave for three months, and your big priority is school and a job, so this works out for both of us.”
I can’t stop thinking about you, either. “I don’t have a lot of money for rent, Bad. The mail room closes over the summer, so I’ll have to find work. It could be weeks before I get a paycheck.”
“We’ll work something out. You can do the irrigation for the greenhouse. Or apply some of your MBA skills you don’t even want to looking at my draft business plan.”
“Or spread my legs and say ‘please’,” Red said, watching his face.
“No. This ain’t about that. Or it is, but it’s about a whole bunch of bigger shit, too.”
Red believed him. “What if you hate me because I put the remote down in the wrong place?”
“What the hell makes you think you’d be allowed to touch the remote?”
“Fuck you, Mr Big Bad. That’s part of whatever rent agreement we make; tenant gets partial control of the TV.”
“I might be willing to trade certain services for it, but no, the TV is all mine.”
“If it doesn’t work out—and I’m just guessing, but I’m probably a real sonofabitch to live with—then you can always go home later. Stay with me, Red. Just for the summer.”
Red’s brain wanted to hear forever, but he’d take for the summer. He held out his hand across the table, over his cold bacon and eggs.
“Okay, but I should probably tell you, my car leaks oil. Also, you already kind of hate all my clothes.”
“Why don’t you get your car fixed?”
Red rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I go into a mechanic place and immediately they’re gonna charge me five hundred dollars, and I’ll probably leave with the same fucking problem I had when I walked in.”
“Well, definitely don’t wear a vest. Or those pants from yesterday. Or anything with glitter.”
“Shut up, Bad.”
Bad gestured to their server. “My friend got distracted and forgot to eat his food. Can we get another meal for him, made hot? We’ll pay for the extra.”
“Sure thing, sweetie.” And the woman winked at Red, like He’s adorable, hon. I can see why you were distracted. “Coming right up.”
“I could’ve ordered my own, you know.”
“You would have forced yourself to eat the cold one.”
Which was true. “Still.”
Bad leaned forward and touched Red’s jaw. Red went very still. “You should have the best, Little Red. Only the best.”
Oh my god, Bad’s lips were so fucking warm, and tasted like coffee.
“We can bring some of your stuff over today, if you want.”
“Yeah. Yeah, all right. I should stay at Stout, though, just through finals. Or you might, uh, distract me.”
“Who, me? I’d offer study incentives. Really good study incentives.”
Which sounded fun, and was also a terrible idea. “You can fuck with me at lunch, Bad. And I’ll see you Thursday, after finals.”
“About last night.”
Red groaned. “Don’t fucking do the thing where now we have to talk about our feelings. Last night was good. Really good. Fucking intense and all kinds of screwed up, but good.”
“I don’t need to do that all the time.” Bad made a hand gesture over the table that Red took to mean I don’t need to tie up your balls all the time, either. “But when I’m involved, I’m in charge, Red. That’s not gonna change if you’re living with me.”
“That a promise, Bad?”
The server came back with another plate of eggs, and Red dug in. Food had never tasted so good in his life. Neither had coffee, even shitty diner coffee.
Something clanged on the table in front of him. A key.
“Anyway, I’ll put some cardboard down so your car doesn’t fuck up the driveway. That key works for the front and back doors. Make yourself at home, Little Red.”
“Ha, ha, ha, Bad.”
“You’re probably gonna have to meet my friend Sue. She’s kind of a bitch, you’ll like her.”
“Yeah, uh, is it okay if I tell Polly your name? She’s been on me for two weeks to tell her, just in case you rape and murder me.”
“Jesus, Red, yeah, of course. Don’t—I’d rather not be fired, but this isn’t—what it was. When it started.”
Red couldn’t help a grin. “Oh man. Do you have a crush on me, Bad? Listen, you can tell me. I’m, like, you know, totally sensitive. You can tell because of the vests.”
“When we get back to the house, I think I’ll take the opportunity to explore some of your sensitivity, Red. Meticulously.”
Every inch of Red’s skin flushed, and his balls tried to crawl back into his body but ran up against the ropes. Still, there was only one possible thing he could say.
Bad smiled. “Damn right. Finish your breakfast.”
“Yeah, okay. Tell me more about your yoga studio. You want it somewhere downtown?”
Maybe he was high on sex endorphins, or deluded by Disney movies, but at the moment Red didn’t care. He sat in a diner and listened to his boyfriend talk about yoga.
He’d have to find a good way to break it to Bad that they really were going steady now. He could hardly wait.