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"Thomas, I. . . " Marcus shuddered. Thomas slid his hand into Marcus' underwear, his thumb playing in the crease between his buttocks, just a teasing caress before he moved to palm one cheek. To squeeze. With the other hand, he reached around from the other side and gripped the thick root of Marcus' cock. Marcus' head fell back, hair brushing Thomas' temple. Thomas pressed his face into it, inhaling.
He worked his strong fingers over the ridged head, the steel shaft. When he pushed his leg against the back of Marcus', he made his knee bend. Slowly, Marcus went down onto one, then the other. Emotion flooded Thomas' chest, made it hard for him to speak.
He didn't think there were words for this kind of moment, anyway.
Guiding Marcus' hand up, he held the arm straight in the air and fit the cuff around the wrist. Then the other. "Lace your fingers behind your head now," he said quietly.
Marcus had a preference for restraints that made his submissives feel that extra step of vulnerability. So now Thomas ran the stiff strap threaded through a loop of the wrist cuff around Marcus' throat, a three-inch thick collar which nudged up his chin. With his thumb, Thomas nudged it up further so he could fit the collar, run it through the other cuff ring and adjust it.
As he slid the tongue of the strap through the buckle, he ran his fingers beneath, made sure it wasn't too snug against Marcus' throat. Then he snapped the joining pieces of the wrist cuffs, the final reinforcement. It effectively kept Marcus' hands laced against the back of his head, unable to lower arms or move his hands at all. It allowed Thomas access to any part of him.
Guiding Marcus back to his feet, he turned him. Gripping his bound forearms, Thomas leaned in and simply seized his mouth. He could do whatever he wanted to that mouth, and he did, playing deep into him, moving to hold Marcus' face to take himself deeper, push his tongue so far in it was probably at the back of his throat.
When Marcus' legs hit the bed, Thomas took him down flat on his back on it, pressing between his legs, still half standing, hard groin to hard groin, the pressure of his body on every available inch of Marcus' as he kissed him, kissed him, and kept kissing him.
He used his hands, running them over the biceps, hard as rock. Along the laced fingers, tugging on the wrist restraints a
nd the collar to tease, underscore his bondage.
Marcus strained for him. Arms, upper body. When he tried to raise his legs, buck against him, Thomas shoved them down. Held the powerful thighs to the bed and ground denim against soft cotton, let him feel the full press of his length and need against his testicles, against Marcus' own aroused cock.
Oddly, Marcus said nothing. It was as if his voice was paralyzed and all he could do was move against Thomas, conveying his desire with his body, the expression in his eyes, his now wet mouth. He was trembling still, all over, so hard his teeth were practically chattering. Thomas reached under him, gripped his ass, his fingers opening him, teasing the rim.
"Ah. . . fuck. . . "
That got a response. Thomas felt Marcus' cock convulse against him like a separate beast. He moved his hand forward, inside Marcus' snug briefs and gripped the base. He was hot. Jesus, was he hot. When he was sure the near miss had passed, he caressed the tip, then withdrew his touch and licked Marcus' salty taste off his hand while those green eyes watched him.
"Fuck me. Do it. "
Instead, Thomas put his hand to Marcus' throat, his fingers sliding under the restraint of the collar to hold him still as he bent to the left nipple and began to nibble.
Marcus had the sexiest nipples, the flat brown circle of pigment around them like burnished pennies. He laved them, nipped and then nipped more sharply.
Marcus almost came off the bed. Thomas fought him and won, ending up straddling his waist, his ass pressed down on his cock. Marcus' gaze traveled down his own body to Thomas' tightly restrained crotch area. His chest was heaving from the exertion.
"Show it to me. I want to see all of you. "
"Stay where you are. " Thomas eased back, stood between the spread of Marcus' thighs and caught his thumbs in the band of Marcus' boxer briefs, ran them down his legs and took them off with the jeans. He wanted Marcus completely naked first.
God, he'd never felt anything like this. He wanted to devour Marcus, drown in that green fire in his eyes. He wanted to be fucked by him forever, taken down on his knees and savaged as punishment for doing this to his Master. But first he wanted to earn that punishment. Earn it well.
For a moment, when Marcus' gaze traveled down his body, Thomas could tell it occurred to them both, that Thomas could make Marcus open his mouth, thrust himself in. But he wouldn't. That was a true act of submission, one he would never force upon his Master.
Despite the rush of this moment, Thomas had no illusions he was a sexual Dominant. The desire he saw in Marcus' eyes when he Mastered Thomas goaded a response from Thomas that was explosive, all consuming, so raw he knew it came from a core identity of who he was. The slave of one particular Master, who was as much a Master as Thomas was his slave.
Therefore, this might be the most difficult thing Marcus had ever done. Thomas didn't want to do anything to destroy the highly fragile, perfect moment. Everything he was doing now was following his intuition of what his Master needed in order to let go, to love. To do that, his slave had restrained him. It was a delicate, completely instinctive give and take, so close to the deepest, darkest areas of Marcus' psyche that it seemed to require the deepest level of Thomas' submission in an unprecedented way.
As he took off his shirt, he felt Marcus' eyes cover his chest. Thomas lay back down on him, putting his knee in between Marcus' legs and stretching out so he brought his chest to Marcus' face, giving him the heat of his body. He closed his eyes, shuddering as Marcus' lips clamped on his skin, mouthing him greedily, sucking on his flesh, tasting him, licking the tender crease of the pectoral, the bump of his nipple, the curve of skin over the last line of ribs before his flat stomach.
He rubbed his hard need against Marcus' abdomen even as he pressed his upper thigh against Marcus' arousal. Marcus strained upward, grinding. Locking his legs over Thomas' ass, he increased the friction in a way that had Thomas fighting his own response, creating a light dew on both of their skins.
He moved back down hip bone to hip bone, chest to chest. Thomas loved the feel of his bare, cleanly shaven skin rubbing over the light covering of silken hair over Marcus' pecs that made a dark arrow down his belly. Marcus kept his pubic area clean though, except for a trimmed mat of hair. Thomas reached between them to stroke it now, to run his knuckle along his cock.
"Jesus. . . clothes. . . off. " Marcus reared up, bit his throat with a growl.
Thomas pulled back from him, stood and pulled the button free, took the zipper down and shucked off the jeans, kicking off his shoes to make it happen. He suddenly found his hands perspiring, heart high in his chest. The first time he'd done this it had been with someone he'd picked up at an artist's hangout in New York. They'd been two kids groping each other, laughing.
Philip. After Philip fucked him, they switched places and Thomas did him. It had been fun, simple sex, though it had been a wonder for Thomas, having always had to guard his desires so closely, never exercise them. It had been Philip in that first painting, when he'd met Marcus.
