Coping Mechanism

Coping Mechanism

By Charley Descoteaux

In the two years since he and Sam found an apartment off-campus together, Charlie had gotten used to being in control. Everything went more smoothly when someone was in charge, and he liked to be that someone. Friends were supposed to graduate and take their dream jobs, but as he bounded up ten flights of stairs he wished he could leave the gloom Valerie’s announcement had created behind as easily as he ran up to the eleventh floor.

Charlie had dinner on the table before Sam made it home from his late class. Sam’s contributions to the conversation were mostly mono-syllabic but that only strengthened Charlie’s resolve—his evening plans would be more than fun, they were necessary. The night before, Sam had given him a foot massage that deserved to have a national holiday dedicated in its honor and he planned to top that, in just about every sense of the word.

They shared in the kitchen clean-up and then Sam excused himself to shower. Charlie sat on the foot of the bed, eyes on the door. Sam headed for his side of the dresser, a hint of steam rising from his bare shoulders; Charlie took a slow deep breath and dove in.

“You won’t be needing anything in there tonight.”

Sam straightened. Charlie often joked that one day Sam would come home to find he’d sawed the legs off the dresser to enhance the view. Charlie would also have to bend over if it were any shorter, but he thought of it as an invitation more than an inconvenience.

Sam turned.

Charlie stood. “Lie down.”

Sam opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again. Charlie stepped back and gestured toward the bed.

“Lie down on your back.”

Sam didn’t make a move toward the bed. Charlie turned and started for the door, shot down like he hadn’t been in years. The worst part was he’d misjudged what Sam would do. After three years together he thought he knew Sam better than that.

“Charlie.”

Charlie stopped but didn’t turn. He listened as Sam got onto the bed, and waited for him to settle before looking at him. Sam’s body was stiff, the muscles in his arms and legs flexed. Charlie took a moment to appreciate the beautiful color of his skin, somewhere between russet and burnt umber, the picture marred only by the confusion creasing his handsome face.

“Close your eyes.”

“Charlie—”

“No talking.”

Sam held his breath.

Charlie went on, his voice softer but leaving no room to argue. “Close your eyes.”

Sam closed his eyes and Charlie’s heart sped up. He counted to ten and then leaned in to whisper in Sam’s ear.

“Tonight you don’t have to think. Just relax and I’ll tell you what to do.”

Sam opened his mouth. Charlie waited a moment, but he didn’t speak.

“Good. No talking unless I ask you a question or you want me to stop. Okay?”

Sam nodded.

“I want to hear you say it.”

Sam breathed a little faster. “Okay.” It was more a sigh than a word, and Charlie shivered.

“Lift your head.”

Charlie opened his nightstand without a sound and Sam moaned the tiniest bit when the filmy blindfold touched his face. A yard of soft silk, it almost matched the blue-black of Sam’s hair, shimmery and shiny and completely opaque. Charlie wound the fabric around Sam’s head twice and let the ends trail up over the pillows. “That’s enough.”

Sam put his head back down and Charlie said, “Oh, that’s nice.” More tension drained from Sam’s body, his chest rising and falling faster. “Can you see anything?”

“No.”

Another breathless sigh of an answer, and Charlie felt it in his cock. Sam was reacting as he’d hoped, his nervous tension visibly giving way to anticipation and arousal.

Just as Sam began to tense up again, Charlie took his wrist. Without a word he raised Sam’s arm and put his hand between two of the headboard’s bars.

“Hold on.”

Sam gripped the bar touching his palm. They hadn’t gotten a black wrought iron bed frame because it was beautiful and practical from a design perspective. Charlie padded soundlessly around the bed and took Sam’s other wrist, gently stretching his arm to create the picture he wanted before placing his palm against a bar.

“Hold on. Good.” Charlie leaned in and spoke quietly in Sam’s ear, eliciting a soft moan. “Don’t let go.”

Sam turned his head toward Charlie’s voice, but he already stood in front of his nightstand again.

Charlie took out a black leather riding crop. His eyes raked over Sam’s body, watching his muscles twitch as he waited, his grip on the headboard tightening. He touched the inside of Sam’s right ankle with the tip of the crop and Sam’s breath caught and held. He slowly drew it up the side of Sam’s calf, exerting the tiniest bit of pressure. Sam’s leg jerked away before quickly moving back, and Charlie had trouble keeping himself from moaning out loud. Sam’s willingness to do only what he allowed was even hotter than he’d imagined. When he reached Sam’s knee he drew the crop back down to his ankle just as slowly.

“Move your leg.”

Charlie pressed the crop against Sam’s ankle, guiding it into position, and by the time he was satisfied he was as hard as Sam. Sam whimpered when Charlie pulled the crop away from his skin. Charlie hoped he expected to feel it at the same spot on his other ankle and licked his lips as he placed his baton in its thick snow leopard print fur cover there instead. Sam’s hips rose from the bed. Charlie pulled the baton away. Charlie loved the way Sam had given himself over to the moment, his arms shaking, his head thrown back. Sam licked his lips and Charlie braced a hand against the wall to lean in for a kiss.

Sam flicked the tip of his tongue into Charlie’s mouth and he pulled away. Sam’s mouth sought to find him again and instead of indulging him Charlie rubbed the baton against the inside of his ankle. When Charlie saw his jaw tighten he said, “Move your leg until I say stop.”

Sam shifted his leg slowly until he was spread-eagle on the bed, the fur-covered baton against the inside of his ankle the whole time.

“Stop.” Charlie dragged the baton up the inside of Sam’s leg as he asked, “Are you comfortable?”

The higher the baton drifted up Sam’s thigh, the louder each panting breath became. Until Charlie stopped halfway.

“I asked if you’re comfortable.”

“Yes. Yes.”

Charlie liked the eagerness but not the quaver in Sam’s voice. He’d sounded just like that the first time they’d been alone together. Sam had never done anything with a guy before and had been scared and confused, but not while they were actually touching. Charlie moved the baton until the tip rested against the inside of Sam’s knee and he could leave it on the bed without being obvious he was abandoning it. He held the glass of ice water he’d left on his nightstand for a moment and then placed his cool hand on Sam’s forehead, gently smoothing the frown away. Sam relaxed again and Charlie returned to the foot of the bed, fighting the urge to climb up and sit on his big hard dick.

Instead he knelt on the foot of the bed and picked the baton up in his right hand, the crop was back in his left. Heat radiated from Sam’s legs and when Charlie ran the fur-covered baton up Sam’s thigh felt him begin to tremble. Charlie let the fur tickle Sam’s balls and they tightened, along with his defined abs. Sam moaned and Charlie bit his lip to keep from echoing him. It was beautiful how he was responding to every sensation, to every direction. Charlie was so hot he dropped the baton and gave his own balls a little tug, and added a few quick strokes for good measure. He didn’t consider himself a masochist, but not allowing himself to touch Sam was giving him the most special pain.

Charlie placed the crop against Sam’s thigh, on the tender skin on the inside of his leg. He didn’t smack it down but didn’t ease it either and Sam froze. Charlie slid the flat leather an inch or two toward Sam’s knee and then up and around his hip joint. His cock curved the slightest bit in that direction, and Charlie let the leather brush against the length of it. And again on the down stroke. His arms jerked but he kept his hold on the headboard.

Sam’s body tensed but he didn’t raise his hips from the bed, even though Charlie was pretty sure he fought not to. A drop of pre-come glistened on Sam’s stomach. His breath came faster and faster and the muscles of his jaw slackened, making Charlie think of slipping his throbbing erection into Sam’s mouth.

“What do you want?”

Sam moaned. The bed vibrated with his trembling.

“Tell me what you want.”

“Touch…touch me, Charlie. Please.”

Charlie leaned forward and licked the come from Sam’s stomach, careful not to touch his cock, and he cried out. A single syllable, but Charlie had to squeeze the base of his own cock to keep from coming.

Once he’d regained control, he found himself sliding onto his stomach to lie down between Sam’s legs. He kissed the skin on the side of Sam’s knee and he cried out again. Charlie wished he had the ice water handy, but no way was he going to go and get it. Even if he could stand and make it around the bed without a sound he was too busy preparing himself and enjoying every moan and sigh of Sam’s. Maybe next time.

He kissed up Sam’s thigh and softly cupped his balls, moving them aside. Charlie heard the headboard slam against the wall when he flicked his tongue over Sam’s hole. His body went rigid and Charlie was afraid he’d come. When Charlie moved his tongue away Sam cried out what might’ve been “no” or might’ve only been a sound, but it was enough.

Charlie sat up, past caring about keeping the bed still beneath them, and Sam whimpered. He gasped when Charlie spoke to him, their faces inches apart.

“Don’t come yet.” Charlie kissed a short line down Sam’s neck and he let out a long low moan. Charlie lowered himself so their erections touched, moving his hips just a bit, and he moaned again. “I’m going to sit on your cock and you’re not going to come until I have a chance to enjoy it. Right?”

Sam panted too hard to speak. Charlie wanted to hear him say it—needed him to get enough control to do it. He backed away just enough so they weren’t touching. Sam rose, trying to stay with him, and then sunk back onto the bed.

“Please.”

Charlie grinned. “Try again.”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

Charlie kissed his lips softly, his neck. He flicked one nipple with the tip of his tongue and Sam’s shiver brought their erections together for a heartbeat. Sam’s every breath was a shallow pant by the time Charlie touched him. Charlie caressed Sam’s balls and then trailed his fingertips up the length of his shaft. Slowly, maddeningly slowly, he brought himself over the head of Sam’s cock and thrust down, taking almost the whole length on the first stroke and crying out at the burn he’d been looking forward to since he’d run up the last flight of stairs hours before.

Charlie reached around and squeezed the base of Sam’s cock, hoping for another few strokes at least. Sam was too close and the first time Charlie bottomed-out against him he tensed, rattling the headboard against the wall, the sound competing with his own cries as he came. Normally Charlie would face the other way, his favorite prostate-working angle, but watching a blindfolded Sam come while only gripping the headboard tighter pushed him over the edge right behind him.

***

Charlie opened his eyes and wondered how much time had passed. His cock twitched at the sight of Sam lying beneath him, blindfolded, hands still tight around the headboard bars and arms resting on the pillows. After a few moments Charlie went into the bathroom to clean up. He cleaned Sam up too before he so much as moved a muscle. Charlie pulled the silk away and kissed Sam’s ear.

“You can let go of the bars now.”

Sam smiled. “Not so.”

Charlie slowly ran his hand down Sam’s arm and he shivered and moaned. He was surprised to find Sam’s hand still clamped around the bar, but it opened with one gentle pull on his thumb. Charlie brought Sam’s arm down and rubbed his shoulder to get the circulation going again. Charlie wasn’t sure if the sound Sam made when he slipped away was a sigh or a moan but it felt beautiful. He brought Sam’s other arm down and then settled against his side, head resting on his chest. Sam hadn’t so much as touched the silk wrapped around his head. After one last look Charlie pulled the end. Sam raised his head and the fabric slipped into a puddle on his chest. He wrapped both arms around Charlie and moaned softly, the silk swishing over their sensitive skin.

“What did you like about that?” Charlie whispered, his cheek against Sam’s chest. Sam shivered but didn’t respond. “The blindfold…the submission?”

“Yes.”

When Sam kissed the top of his head Charlie turned his face up and was surprised when Sam only grazed his lips lightly, eyes open. Charlie watched Sam’s gaze slowly sweep down the length of their bodies, and sighed when Sam pulled him close and nuzzled his hair.

“You. You were perfect, Charlie.”

Charlie kissed Sam’s chest and he gasped softly. Charlie wondered if Sam’s skin would still feel sensitive the next morning when they had to get up for class, and hoped it would. He fell asleep with a smile on his face, a part of his mind working on the plan for next time.

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For more from Sam and Charlie, check out the short story “Comfort,” a free read available from All Romance eBooks.

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