Please

 

 

 

by silveryscrape

 

 

 

 

 

Chris is waiting. He’ll wait as long as he has to. Sometimes it gets to him, the boredom, until he remembers what he’s waiting for. Then he tenses up and it’s not entirely unpleasant, of course, but that fades and he’s just there, waiting.

 

Sometimes he laughs at himself, thinking it over in the passing hours, laughs at the thought that he’d wait like this, that he’d allow this. That he’d want this. That he’d actually crave this, knowing what JC wants and trying so hard to get it right. But that passes, too, the laughing, dropping into the silence with the rest of his thoughts, falling away into stillness.

 

Sometimes it takes a long time. But JC always seems to know how long to make him wait.

 

JC told him to be ready. He knows this means JC won’t be pleased if he’s lounging on the bed or reading a magazine or watching tv. So he kneels, because he knows JC likes that. JC knows his knees can’t take kneeling on the floor or even the carpet. He’s allowed to kneel on the bed if he wants, and Chris finds himself absurdly pleased by this, sometimes to the point of tears, when the hours pass and he’s there, on his knees on the comfortable bed, waiting.

 

At some point Chris finds himself staring at a framed picture of him and JC. He thinks he may have been looking at it for a long time. In the picture, he is mugging, making a face at the camera while JC rolls his eyes, holding on to a handful of Chris’s hair, the dark spikes clenched between JC’s fingers. As Chris looks at JC’s hand in his hair, he hears the door to the suite being unlocked. Something inside him clicks open, too; something drops into place.

 

He turns to watch JC. He can do that, because JC told him he likes it when Chris watches him get ready. Chris knows he’ll be blindfolded if JC doesn’t want him to see, anyway. JC is wearing jeans and a button-down shirt. He looks tired, and Chris feels a pang of worry. But then JC turns to look at him, smiling, and the worry dissolves into a warm rush.

 

“Christopher,” he says in that scratchy, intimate voice. Chris answers him, listening to how breathless his own voice is.

 

“JC.”

 

JC crosses the room to him, all fluid grace, and cups a hand around his jaw. It’s their thing, their beginning, and Chris leans his head against JC’s body for a brief, shuddering moment. Then he sits back on his heels again to watch.

 

JC begins to unbutton his shirt. The smile has slipped from his face; he looks dreamy, thoughtful. Chris wonders if he has a still place inside him, too. He won’t ask about it now, though. JC likes it when he talks, told him once in a moment Chris remembers with secret pride that he loves the sounds Chris makes when he’s deep inside it. But he’ll gag Chris if he chatters too much and Chris doesn’t want that tonight.

 

Leaving his clothes where he drops them, JC stands before the bed, smoothing his hand up and down his abdomen. He’s beautiful. Long and sleek and muscular, he’s hard already, his cock jutting out from his body. Chris has trouble breathing for a minute. He wishes he could be beautiful for JC, too, but he never says so. He remembers how sad JC got when he made a joke about his weight one time, after they started. He won’t make JC sad if he can help it. It’s one thing he has to offer.

 

Finally, JC is ready. Chris can tell because the dreamy expression on JC’s face slips into something darker. He gives Chris a cool, considering look, tilting his head, and Chris feels a thrill go up his spine.

 

“What do you want tonight, Christopher?” he asks.

 

Chris gapes at him for a second, then lowers his head quickly. JC never asks. Never. But there are circles under his eyes and his face is drawn, and in a flash Chris realizes how hard this must be for JC, always knowing what to do.

 

His heart pounding, Chris takes a chance. Lifting his chin, he says, “Let me. Touch you.”

 

Immediately he feels like an absolute tool. That didn’t come out right at all. He touches JC all the time, worshipping him, and one of their favorite games involves JC acting oblivious while Chris does his best to get him worked up. But JC’s face lightens a little and Chris thinks maybe he understands.

 

“All right,” he says, “but, clothes.”

 

Chris springs up, released, and gets naked while JC crawls into the center of the bed.

 

Once Chris has his clothes off, he returns to the bed. JC is lying back on the pillows, arms cradling his head, watching him. He’s smirking at Chris; it’s a challenging look, but with something warm behind it. Chris places a hand carefully on his hip.

 

“Turn over,” he murmurs.

 

For a moment, JC doesn’t move. He regards Chris steadily, seriously, and Chris feels flushed. He thinks he’ll end up paying for his presumption, later. But then JC flows over on to his stomach and Chris can breathe again.

 

He keeps a hand on JC’s back as he fumbles for the scented oil JC likes for their play. JC hisses as Chris pours it on his skin. He’s forgotten to warm it, and he finds himself snickering quietly as JC flinches to escape the cold. JC growls and turns his head on his arms to glance at Chris from the corner of his eye. Chris is certain he’ll be punished next time. The thought both unnerves and arouses him, so he leans forward, pushing his face into JC’s hair, inhaling, whispering “sorry” into JC’s ear.

 

JC says “mmmm” and settles back into the pillows.

 

Chris takes his time spreading the silky oil over JC’s skin. JC is warm, but he is tense on the bed, his breathing shallow. Chris starts with his head, stroking his tangled hair, rubbing the knotted muscles of his neck, pushing into them with his fingers. At first JC tightens up whenever Chris hits a sore patch. Then, as he begins to relax, he stops resisting and starts arching his body into Chris’s touch, mumbling and humming as Chris slides his hands over his shoulders and back.

 

By the time Chris runs his hands down the small of JC’s back to his ass, JC is rippling over the bed with every stroke, breathing softly. Chris cups his ass gently. Then he digs his fingers in, squeezing hard. JC says “ahhh” and flexes, pushes his hips into the bed as he comes up on his elbows, head down. Chris smiles. It’s worth the punishment, to be able to play like this. It’s exciting. Chris realizes he’s hard. He has been for some time, his cock throbbing in the furrow between JC’s thighs. Straddling JC this way, Chris feels sparks flowing down his spine that impel him to push against that perfect ass. JC’s spreading his legs. He can’t think about that. JC never asks for that. Can’t.

 

Chris scrambles over next to JC on the bed. JC makes a disgruntled little sound into the pillow and sinks down on the blankets. He’s trembling. Chris trails his fingers along JC’s thighs, scratching fingernails lightly over the tender flesh, and JC flexes his ass again and moves his legs restlessly on the bed, sighing. Chris pats one leg briskly.

 

“Over,” he says.

 

JC stretches luxuriously, humming, and rolls over. He smiles at Chris.

 

“I want your mouth,” he says. Automatically Chris licks his lips and moves toward JC’s cock, all hard and red against JC’s abdomen. But he manages to stop himself, closing his eyes briefly, and quirks his lips at JC.

 

“I’m touching you,” he tells JC. JC narrows his eyes. Chris’s breath catches in his throat and he has to fight to keep his own gaze steady. 

 

Finally, amazingly, JC nods. Chris feels a rush that fills up his chest. He bows his head. There’s a prickling in his eyes.

 

When he’s able to look up again, JC’s watching him. Chris can’t identify the look on his face. JC seems almost... hungry. But then he closes his eyes and pushes an arm across his face, and Chris can move again.

 

He’s through with playing. He pours a tiny handful of oil, warms it, and takes hold of JC’s cock.

 

JC opens his mouth and exhales, a rough drawn out groan. His cock throbs in Chris’s hand. Chris begins to stroke, spreading the oil over JC’s cock, and JC immediately begins pushing hard into Chris’s hand, lifting his hips off the bed. Sliding his other hand up JC’s body, Chris finds and twists a swollen nipple. JC says “fuck” and arches his back, pulling his knees up a little. Chris releases the reddened nipple to reach down and rub gently at JC’s balls as he pulls on his cock. JC gasps and speeds up.

 

Then Chris is biting his lip because it’s so beautiful, JC’s so beautiful, undulating his body frantically, gasping, growling out “Chris, Christopher” as he comes, jerking his cock into Chris’s hand. He reaches abruptly to grab Chris’s shoulder and holds on tight, riding it out. Chris watches, rapt. JC comes down gradually. His body loosens by slow degrees, settling back on the bed, and finally he turns his head to the side, mouth open, panting. He keeps his grip on Chris, but when Chris makes a tentative move to stretch his legs, JC murmurs “sorry” and lets him go.

 

Chris cleans JC up, as he always does. JC watches him move around the suite through half closed eyes. When he’s done, JC pulls him into bed and pulls the covers over them both.

 

JC curls himself around Chris, making a noise low in his throat. Chris can feel his breathing deepen and slow. A smile spreads across Chris’s face; he realizes he is shaking, pleased to his core to have pleased JC. JC murmurs something unintelligible into Chris’s neck, brushing his hand over Chris’s body, and Chris gasps suddenly, his cock jerking, his own heat coming to his attention. He’s still so hard.

 

JC strokes once along his cock, squeezing the fat head. Chris shudders, pushing back into JC’s body, sliding his legs along JC’s to soothe the prickles in the backs of his thighs. He moans. JC bites him gently on the neck.

 

“Wait ‘til tomorrow. Don’t... Save this for me,” he breathes into Chris’s ear. Chris grimaces.

 

“Dammit, JC,” he says.

 

JC laughs a little, softly, and buries his face in Chris’s hair to sleep.

 

Satisfied, Chris turns his face into the pillow.

 

 

 

 

The end.

 

 

November 2003 

 


 

back to Twisting the Rope 

 

back to my fiction