Page 16

SIXTEEN

JACE

There was a special sort of release in telling Easton something about myself, something I wasn’t particularly proud of. Few people accepted me for who I was. More often than not, I was more useful than bothersome, so they put up with me. Ivan didn’t fall into that group, although if I were to prove useless altogether, I didn’t think I would stay in his good graces forever.

But Easton was different. We shared too much history to act like strangers. The only way we bonded was through fighting each other, tearing out one another’s secrets from the depths of the other one’s soul. We stopped at nothing, not even breaking each other, in order to get closer. And when we bared our teeth and our souls, we found ourselves looking at something strange and familiar at the same time. We were too alike to be happy about it and just different enough to be fascinated by it.

Easton played the melody that soothed me. It was that famous one about moonlight or something, and he said he could only play the first movement or whatever it was called. I asked him to repeat it again and again, my hands resting on his shoulders at first, then wrapping behind my back, until I finally sat down, and Easton didn’t need me to tell him to start again.

“Aren’t you gonna get sick of it?” he asked much later, but he didn’t stop.

“If I do, you’ll play something else,” I told him.

Moonlight Sonata. It flowed mournfully from one note to the next, rising, rising, never falling. Easton didn’t question me; he didn’t ask what I liked about it. He played, and I remembered. He had played this a long time ago with much less skill and success. I had been jealous of him, but it had never been his fault. He hadn’t asked to be picked over me. The decision had come from above. He hadn’t asked for better gifts under the tree. In fact, I remembered one Christmas when Easton made a fuss—an occurrence so unlike the agreeable boy our parents were so proud of—over not wanting to open the presents.

I had thought that Easton was afraid I would break something in a flash of fury. I’d believed my presence bothered him so much that he didn’t want to do the one good thing we did every year just so he could deny me that shriveled moment of happiness. But it hadn’t been him.

The truth was, I hardly let a day pass without remembering something from those days. And in all this time, I held on to the memory of Easton that I had formed in the days when my feelings had overpowered reality. Easton had only ever been an easy target for my anger. I couldn’t torment Kevin, so I took it out on Easton. It was easier to make him upset and ruin Kevin’s day like that.

“Okay,” I said softly as Easton finished the ninth or tenth repetition of the same piece. “You sure mastered it tonight.”

He turned on the stool to face me, his hands in his lap. “You like it that much?”

I shrugged. “It makes me think about the same old things in a new way.”

“How so?” he asked, his curiosity evident on his face. The cuts on his lip and eyebrow were only tiny scars now, and I believed they would fade eventually. He was pretty with them just as he had been without them.

I stood and crossed the short space between us, cupping his chin in one hand and lifting his head to look into his green eyes. “You see, I don’t think we were natural enemies.” His pupils dilated. I wasn’t imagining it. “The world just pitted us against each other by default, but we’re breaking that curse.”

Easton swallowed and nodded, his chin still in my hand. He never took his gaze off my face. “We are.”

“You’ll always be mine,” I said. “Even if…” I shrugged. It wasn’t worth talking about that. “You’ll still be mine.”

Easton pressed his lips together, his eyes glimmering with what could have been the beginnings of tears. He placed his hands on my hips. “I’ll always belong to you.”

I nodded. “Come.” My head gestured to the hallway on the far side of the living room. Easton leaped to his feet at the command and followed me into his bedroom. He knew what he was getting. I’d kept him on his toes for long enough, barely resisting it myself.

As we entered his bedroom, I shut the door, letting only the subdued light of the lamp in the far corner banish the darkness. Putting a hand on Easton’s cheek, I looked into his eyes as intensely as I could, making him understand that I saw him. “You were so good last night,” I said.

Easton blinked. Perhaps he’d only expected that I should put him down, use him, torture him. But what was sex like that if it never switched around? What was the point of having the darkness if there was no light to contrast it? I was more than capable of giving him the praise he equally craved.

“With those pretty lips,” I said, finding an honest smile for Easton as I brushed his lips with my thumb. “And those hungry eyes. Oh, you’re killing me, baby boy.”

Easton released a shuddering breath. “Jace.”

“I like when you say my name, Easton,” I told him. I didn’t know what to do about that best friend of his. It was either the blond twink or the big guy with all that hair. But I knew for sure I would eliminate Kyle. What he had done to Easton was unforgivable. I’d seen bi-curious boys like that, teasing and getting cold feet at the last moment, then acting all tough. Not on my watch, though. I would protect him if it was the last thing I did.

“Jace,” he said, firmer yet still needy.

“Close your eyes,” I told him, and he obeyed instantly. My thumb passed softly like a feather under his right eye, reaching the outer corner and moving down the side of his face. It crossed his cheekbone and reached the level of his lips, then turned to feel his mouth. I feathered his lips and reached up the length of his nose, over his left eyebrow, and down the other side of his face, memorizing the geography of it like I would never get to see it again.

The nearly invisible fuzzy little hairs along his face stood, gooseflesh appearing along his arms.

“You’re such a pretty, innocent thing, Easton,” I told him, my hand tracing his jawline to his chin, then down to his Adam’s apple. “I like how sweet and quietly strong you are. I like when someone like that worships me.”

The corners of Easton’s lips trembled on the verge of a smile. I leaned in and kissed his closed left eye, my lips fitting perfectly against it next to the bridge of his straight nose. Then, I kissed the other one and moved my head to the left until I reached his ear. “Do you worship me, Easton?”

“God, yes,” he exhaled, barely holding himself standing. The tension was palpable between us, radiating from Easton and touching every part of me. “I do.”

“Like a shrine that exists only for you?” I asked, my heated breath flowing over his ear and making him tremble.

“Like a god,” Easton said.

I kissed his cheek. Many years ago, I was asked to kiss his cheek, and I refused, practically firing the first shot in the endless game of war we played. Not anymore. I kissed his cheek and inched closer to his lips.

Easton trembled and grabbed my T-shirt, holding himself against me as I kissed the corners of his lips. His eyes still closed, he turned his face to me by a fraction of an inch, placing his lips under mine and letting out a pained moan into my mouth.

I kissed him softly, lips parting and teeth closing gently around his lower lip, tugging it just enough to tease him, then kissing him again. I did this with all the care a wizened antiques salesman put into transporting a priceless piece from some cellar out into the open for all the world to see and admire.

All should admire Easton’s beauty, but only I should have it. I was a possessive soul. Perhaps because I never had much that was mine . But he was. I wouldn’t share him. Not for all the riches of the world.

I kissed him again, harder, setting aflame the passion that lived within him. His fists clenched harder with my T-shirt still in their hold. He pressed himself closer against me, desperate and needy, ready to do whatever he was told just for the chance of pleasure.

“What do you do when you worship a god, Easton?” I asked him, my voice deadly low and daring.

Without a word, eyes opening to gaze at me, Easton lowered himself to his knees, his body rubbing against mine as he did so, his face dragging down my torso and my crotch. “I kneel,” he said. How easily this blasphemy left his lips; it made my chest tight with lust.

I reached for my T-shirt, pulled it over my head, and threw it on the floor. As I leaned in, Easton lifted his T-shirt and handed me the edge, letting me undress him.

His muscles had swelled since yesterday, a tough workout I had to thank, and they glistened under the dim light of the lamp. His back, reflected in the mirror behind him, tensed, muscles knotting, his arms working, hands dragging his sweatpants down to his knees. He lifted himself off the floor just enough to pull the sweatpants down. They remained around his ankles as he crawled hurriedly toward me, his hands landing on my stomach with the yearning a devout believer might express in the presence of a holy artifact.

His hands dragged down my stomach and held on to the waistband of my underwear and my pants, tugging, pulling, pleading to move them aside. A few kind, well-placed words, and my Easton was a puddle of desperation on the floor. I adored him like this. And every single word I’d said was true.

Yesterday, I had made him my bitch; today, I would make him my prince.

Easton dragged my pants and underwear down my legs, letting my dick leap to freedom. Easton buried his face in my crotch instantly, his mouth opening and tongue sticking out as he licked my balls, sending a flurry of tingles through my lower abdomen.

His feet kicked as he tried to free himself of his sweatpants, then stopped when he couldn’t. They remained in a tangle around his ankles, Easton unbothered. He focused on undressing me, pulling my clothes down each foot as I lifted them in turn. His mouth worked hard on my groin, balls, and the base of my dick, drooling over me like nothing else mattered.

My gaze lifted to the mirror where the freak that I was stared back. Easton shook, trembling like an addict who’d waited all day for the fix, and grabbed my ass, kissing and licking every part of me that he could reach. His lips moved from the inside of my thighs to my abdomen, his tongue traced the length of my cock, and he closed his mouth around the tip, wiping the precum clean with his tongue, sucking it deeply, hungrily from the slit and bobbing his head down to impale himself on my length.

Nobody had made me feel this close to them in an act that was supposed to be purely physical. I could give him heaven and hell in purely mechanic actions, moves that pleased our bodies, but Easton set my heart on fire. He burned me from within using little more than a light touch or a begging look.

My chest was about ready to implode with the pressure mounting. Easton held my ass firmly, sucking me harder and deeper with every move of his head. His green eyes were squarely on my face, watching and waiting, asking me to pay attention.

I did. I gazed back at him, my hands settling on the back of his head, and I jammed myself down his throat until his eyes widened and his muscles constricted, forcing me back out.

“Baby boy,” I huffed, fighting to rein my body in. He would flip the sides if I weren’t careful. He would have me teetering on the edge, tortured and suspended, while he held all the aces in his hand. “Fuck,” I groaned, sliding myself deep down his throat and holding his head firmly against the instinct to jerk it back. He shook, convulsed once, then stared up at me with his mouth gaping and tears welling in his eyes.

I pulled out, dragging the gathered saliva with myself and letting it drip down his chin. Easton slurped, finally not embarrassed by the sounds, and breathed in deeply.

“More,” he whispered, his voice raw. “Please, Jace.”

I tossed my head to the side. “Get on the bed. On your back.” As he scrambled to his feet, eager to be rewarded, I went out and fetched the bottle of lube from the bathroom. His little drawer had a douche kit, lube, condoms, and a well-sized dildo. I carried the last item together with the lube and tossed both on the bed.

Easton waited, sitting on the edge of the bed, and I told him how to lie down. But as he got up, I stopped him, coming close and placing my hand on his bulge. “Take them off,” I said, rubbing his cock over the soft fabric of his underwear.

He did as he was told, then lay down, his shoulders resting on the edge of the bed, his feet hanging from the far side of it, and his head hanging nicely on my side. His chest rose and fell with each deep breath, and Easton steeled himself for what I would do to him. Opening his mouth, he tried to lift his hands, but I caught his wrists and pinned his hands down by his hips. His dick throbbed at being handled with such precise roughness, and I bent my knees a bit to aim my dick at his open mouth.

Easton took it bravely, his throat relaxed far better in this position, open almost as if by default. Slowly, at first, I dipped in, getting him used to it, and found how easily he accepted me inside. It made his cock pulse because he couldn’t get any harder than he was. The darkening head of his cock invited me, and I leaned a little lower, swinging my hips and thrusting myself deeper down his throat. My tongue sticking out, I closed the distance and licked the tip of his dick, just enough to drive him mad. His hips shook, and he tried to thrust them up, but all his strength was directed at taking me deep into his mouth.

I licked him again, riling him up, teasing him with something he couldn’t have just yet. He was delicious. Every lick, every drop of his precum, every light, gentle scent of his body that I inhaled only made me want him more.

I pulled back to let him breathe, giving him a moment or two, and reached for the lube and the dildo on the bed. “You like this thing?” I asked.

“Uh-huh,” he gasped.

“Good,” I said.

“More, Jace,” he whispered as I poured a generous amount of oily lube along the cream surface of the rubber dildo. Leaning back down, I slid my dick into his mouth, and Easton took me in greedily, lifting his arms and putting his hands on my hips. This gave him control in case it was too much. Except, instead of giving me a tap to move away, Easton gripped my hips and tugged me closer, making me push the limit of what I thought he could do.

I groaned, punching my fist into the mattress beside him, holding his dildo in my other hand. Easton expected it, so he lifted his feet on the bed and spread his legs.

I rested the dildo on his stomach, careless about the lube that smeared over his taut skin, and pressed my slick fingers between his cheeks much like I had this morning. I rubbed his pulsing hole, seeking its warmth, making it relax and soften.

There was no doubt that Easton had spent the day anticipating this, getting ready for it and resisting the need to play with himself. And when my finger slipped inside of him, making him produce a strangle moan that cut off with the move of my dick in his mouth, I felt it. The slickness of lube he’d used after the shower, the warmth and the wetness of his body, the tightness of his hole around my finger when he tensed.

I fingered him for a little while, exploring his body as deeply as my finger could reach. The first one prepared him, and the second one stretched him, but when I pushed three fingers inside of him, Easton wiggled, groaning over my cock and tensing his abs.

His body was mine to play with, but it was also mine to take care of. I slowed down, adding pressure once in a while, three fingers barely entering him. Moment after excruciating moment, I worked my way in, filling him on both ends, keeping him on the very edge of his endurance.

The more I worked him, the easier it was, and my fingers entered him an inch deeper every few thrusts, making him breathe in short bursts of air. His head bobbed, taking my cock halfway in or more, and his hands held my hips in place so I wouldn’t move.

My focus was elsewhere, probing him and exploring him, stretching him until his abs were as relaxed as the rest of him, and his dick leaked precum in a silvery trickle that pooled in his belly button.

I pulled my fingers out, dragging a high-pitched moan out of Easton, and replaced them with the dildo. Just as I pushed the tip of it inside Easton’s body, he pressed my hips and forced me a little back, groaning deeply at the sensation that no doubt spilled through his insides.

“Trust me,” I whispered, and he relaxed, lying still and waiting as I dipped the dildo in and pulled it out, preparing him little by little for a slightly more forceful push that followed.

The toy entered Easton’s body like I wanted, smoothly with just a little tension that reflected itself in Easton’s muscles. He followed this by pulling my hips down and taking my dick in his mouth again.

I matched the pace of my hips and my hand, thrusting both myself and the toy into him and pulling out simultaneously. As minutes passed and as sweat broke out over my body, the two fell out of sync, making it impossible for Easton to predict what he would feel next. My other hand moved along Easton’s torso and found his nipple, pinching it lightly from time to time, as I leaned down and licked the precum off his abs and his cock.

I’d meant to flip him around. I’d planned to keep him suspended in this feeling for hours, making him sweat and beg and moan. But he was too delicious, and I was too greedy. Something about this boy made me lose control.

I needed him now, and I could fuck him later. The night was young, and we were wicked. I needed to taste him so badly that my plans fell apart, and I closed my lips around his cock, sucking him all the while the dildo filled his little hole and his throat constricted around my dick.

Easton came in a thunderous climax, shuddering and trembling, cum filling my mouth and coating my tongue. Its warmth and sweetness made me flicker with lust as I sealed my lips around him, not letting a single drop escape me. I sucked him still, ramming the dildo deep into him as my own dick throbbed in his mouth.

When I lifted my head and swallowed, I felt cum squirting out of my cock, my balls tight and my dick finally relieved. Easton choked on it, his chest flat and still and his abs tense as hell. Even then, my fist held the toy, torturing him for a moment longer. I jammed it deep in him as the wave of my orgasm lifted me far and carried me wide.

An instant later, I pulled my cock out, letting Easton swallow and breathe in, his chest shaking as he lifted his head.

I rolled off him and to the side, lying in the opposite direction, my face resting on the inside of his thigh and my hand holding the flat bottom of the toy that was still lodged deep inside his body.

Easton moaned, panted, and moved just a little, not even once trying to get me to take the dildo out, even though I had let him come. He was a quick learner and a fiery match for my freakiness.

I rested on his thigh, breathing deeply and savoring the remaining flavor of his cum, watching his dick slowly soften and the uncontrollable pulses make his muscles convulse.

Lube glistened around the stretched rim of his hole. I moved my hand a few inches away, watching as Easton breathed deeply. The toy began to slide, and I pressed it again, pushing it into my fallen angel, and he gasped. “Fuck, Jace,” he whispered.

“A minute more,” I said. Being able to decide something like that, simply for the sake of calling the shots, filled me with another kind of pleasure. Yet it wasn’t at all about my power over him. It was about the fact that only the right guy would allow me that power. And Easton was right in all the ways.

As my hold relaxed, the dildo began to slip out again, but I held it firmly, making him whimper. What sort of torment was this? He had already come, and so had I. Why keep doing it? But we didn’t need a reason. Only sensations. Only what our bodies could feel.

When I finally let the dildo slide out, his hole pulsed. It tightened, pink and shiny with lube, bruised and loosened from such good use. I put two fingers on it, rubbing it gently and feeling its warmth.

I stood up first, somehow finding the will to part from the comfort of Easton’s thigh. My wicked boy was exhausted, hands resting on his chest and stomach, mouth open as he breathed deeply, and I left him there. I brought back a warm, wet towel, wiped his lips and chin, and then kissed him deeply.

He carried my scent even then, the flavor of my body on his tongue, and I kissed him twice as much. Then I wiped him clean, his dick and groin and his hole, before carrying everything back to the bathroom.

When I returned to the bedroom, Easton had moved. His head was on the pillow, and his naked body was curled, awaiting me. I positioned myself behind him, wrapping one arm around him and making our torsos and legs fit in together.

It wasn’t long before the fatigue left me, and the fact that my crotch was so comfortably pressed against his ass kicked off a chain reaction. The hard-on was spontaneous and inevitable, and it was enough for Easton to let out a chuckle. “Already?”

“With you looking all sexy like that, always,” I said and pressed my lips against the back of his neck.

Easton was quiet for a moment, then pushed his ass back against me. “You really are the devil,” he said.

“Never said I wasn’t.”

That made him laugh again, his hand moving back and searching between us until he found my swelling cock. “If you’re ready, I’m ready.”

“We’re never gonna get anything done,” I said, but I was already rolling him to his front and biting his ear.

After, even I thought we were exhausted. The second round was much more tender, our bodies exploring one another in ways that were impossible when you were blinded by lust. So we left the bed somehow and showered together. Easton offered to play something else on the piano, and I told him I would listen only if he remained naked.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” he said, untying the towel from around his waist and leaving it on the floor.

I smoked a cigarette while he played a more uplifting tune by some Tchaikovsky fellow who was apparently a flaming homosexual back in his day, or so Easton said. “He lived across a military academy,” he explained, and we both shared a smirk. He must have had some fine views, but none could have been finer than what I saw before me.

Somewhere in my chest, something like a warm pulse of my heart made itself known. I’d long thought that I had no heart. But maybe it was there. Perhaps it was still beating, and beating for more than just pumping the blood into my arteries.

Maybe I had a heart for Easton.

Would that be so hard to believe?