Page 13 of The Company We Keep
12
December 2014 · AIIB Mission Month 7
“ W ould you like to go home for Christmas?”
The question seemed to catch Dust off guard.
“What?” Carrow asked again when Dust continued to look at him as if the question were completely absurd.
After a minute, Dust shook his head and paddled away from the edge of the pool.
“It’s funny — I haven’t even lived here a full six months, yet my gut reaction to that question was immediately ‘ I’m already home.’ ”
“Ah,” Carrow said, bending and playing a hand through the water. “That’s good to hear, I guess. I’d have hoped you’d settle in by now. So what’s wrong?”
“I never thought the whole center of my world would shift so quickly, is all.”
Dust swam back to Carrow where he was dawdling his legs in the pool. He’d rolled up the bottoms of his pajama pants to enjoy the water after he’d found Dust swimming laps in the morning sun. The pool was a perfect 80° F all year round. Carrow spread his knees as Dust approached the wall, trying to get out of his way. Dust didn’t stop, though, swimming up and then standing to loop him in a wet embrace around the middle.
“Jesus Christ, c’mon —”
“You’re just lucky I don’t pull you in,” Dust warned as Carrow moved farther back from the edge of the pool.
“What I meant was, would you like to go home to see your biological family at the holiday?”
Dust sighed. Apparently he had been giving the item thought, even before Carrow asked him.
“Are you staying here?”
Carrow nodded.
“You’ll be alone if I go,” Dust pointed out.
They’d all been privy to the travel plans the others were making, Herron going home with Vashvi to New England and Leta and Wayles planning a trip back to England to see his father. Carrow hadn’t mentioned a plan, and neither had Dust.
“I’ve been alone on holidays before, Dust. This is about what you want. Do you want to go see them?”
“I’m not sure. I don’t think so. They’re not expecting me.”
Dust wouldn’t meet his eyes. He wasn’t going to press the issue — the kid had never brought up his family if he could help it. Carrow was similarly tight-lipped about his own, and could easily respect that boundary.
“Fair enough,” Carrow said.
The day after he decided to stay with Carrow in Las Abras, Dust headed out for an errand.
Carrow smiled at the way he seemed nervous and furtive.
He must be Christmas shopping .
Carrow had never really cared much about holidays — which tended to be a reminder of the things he had lost.
But this year, all he could think about was everything that he had gained in Dust.
Behind closed doors, Dust was insatiable.
He had confessed early on that he’d never been much for relationships, and that even his physical associations had never lasted long. That, at least, was something they both had in common.
Dust didn’t begrudge him when he became taciturn for long stretches, or when he was distracted with a job. Carrow never became irritated or jealous when Dust would disappear back to his old apartment for an afternoon, or take a drive alone without explanation.
It felt too good to be true, sometimes — but then Leta was always there, reminding Carrow that he’d earned it, that he deserved someone like Dust.
The Company had been prospering almost at the same rate that his feelings for Dust had been flourishing.
For the first time in his life, he was spending money on things that didn’t have to do with his business life or his base of operations. Dust brought something out in him that made Carrow want to treat him with endless surprises — to treat the entire crew.
Crime was fun. But lavishing attention and luxury on the people he loved was surprisingly rewarding, too.
He’d created a gulf between himself and every member of The Company for years. But with Dust drawing him closer and giving him an “in,” he no longer saw his attachment to them as a danger — or worse, a liability.
After all, he told himself: the change in his feelings hadn’t stopped him from accepting risky jobs. It hadn’t compromised his judgment when it came to how to plan heists.
(And yes: maybe it did make him sick to his stomach every time he had Dust doing something risky on the ground. Maybe his heart did fall to his feet when Dust was unaccounted for during a job, even for a minute. Maybe his hands did shake and his heart did flutter when Dust took the occasional bullet. But he’d been handling it. He’d been finding some way to deal with it.
Maybe the things he felt for Dust terrified him.
But he — they all, Dust and Carrow, and The Company as a whole —day after day… they were surviving .)
And even though Carrow had never really cared too much for holidays or surprises, he’d been planning Dust’s Christmas present since before Halloween.
Dust got Emerson’s voicemail the same day he decided to stay in Las Abras for Christmas.
It sure was some fucking timing.
He’d already been hating himself for not going to see his parents. He’d worked it out in his head how he could do it — the various paths he could take, doubling back a few times over, ensuring that nobody from The Company or Abe had followed him.
It would be expensive, time consuming, and difficult — but in evading detection from both Abe and The Company, he’d become pretty adept at covering his tracks.
It wasn’t that he missed his parents. Dust felt like he owed them. He’d never told them how long he might be gone on the current mission. It was possible AIIB hadn’t even let them know he was still alive. Even if he only saw them for half a day before heading back on the convoluted journey back to Las Abras, at least they’d get to see him, to know he was well and happy and thriving.
He was going to tell Carrow about it at the last minute. And then there he’d been: picturing the man alone in the sprawling penthouse, imagining what the week would be like for him without the other people who kept his days lively for the rest of the year, without Dust in his bed, frowning like he had back in those AIIB shots in his folder, a glass of whiskey and a thousand-yard stare.
He hated himself for how easy it was to throw his whole plan in the garbage and say he’d stay.
He loathed himself for the instant relief he felt.
They’d returned inside to see what was happening with dinner, and then Dust had broken off for a shower. He grabbed his cell on the way into the bedroom, headed to grab a change of clothes. He barely used the phone, but checked it out of habit.
Three missed calls. One voicemail.
For a moment it didn’t even occur to him who outside of The Company could want to get in touch with him. His severance with AIIB was, at least at that moment, that complete. But as he thumbed over the home button, waiting for the phone to recognize his print, a stripe of fear worked its way down his spine.
It was Neil Emerson.
Panicked and paranoid, Dust strode out of the room towards the bathroom, forgetting his change of clothes, locking the door behind him, and turning on the faucet ( To mask what, you moron? he chided himself) .
He pulled up the voicemail. Just seeing Emerson’s name next to the timestamp felt like seeing a ghost.
Emerson.
The voicemail was short.
His fingertip hovered over the ‘delete’ button.
He tapped ‘play’ instead and held the phone to his ear.
“Wrenshall, it’s Emerson. We need to talk. Your debtors are really leaning on me right now. They did not accept your proposal. They’re making it clear that they mean to collect — do you understand? I need you to meet me. I get what you’re going through, kid, I really do. I’ve been there before and I thought there was no way I could make good on my promises but… Let’s meet, OK? Your old place — I still have the key. If I don’t hear from you, just know that I’ll be there tomorrow at nine. I’ll be alone. I can make this better. We can get through this. I just want to talk, Dustin.”
He sounded panicked, at the end of his rope.
Of course Dust had been ignoring reality. His time with The Company had been a complicated game of extreme cognitive dissonance. But after his message to Emerson, he figured AIIB would have… just given up on him. Considered him a lost cause. Moved on maybe and…
Well. He hadn’t gotten that deep into it.
They’d executed Short. He hadn’t gotten a trial or the chance to defend himself, no attorney, no judge or jury of his peers.
The Company hadn’t even made a calculated killing like that since Dust had joined. They’d pulled a job every two or three weeks since he’d moved into Carrow’s penthouse, into his arms and his bed, and never once had they taken a life because it made the job easier.
But the bureau wouldn’t see it like that — clearly hadn’t seen it like that when the only thing between standing on the sidelines and infiltrating The Company was Nick Short’s life.
The meeting felt like a trap.
He came for Emerson the next day, before he could leave his row house to head towards Dust’s old apartment .
It wasn’t hard to intercept him.
He’d been completely off his guard, and Dust had taken a page from the Leta Wright playbook, stepping in silently behind him on his own front doorstep as he turned to fumble with the lock and pressing the muzzle of a gun against his lower back.
Just like Leta on that first night they’d met, the thought of actually shooting never entered his mind. He just needed Emerson’s full attention and cooperation — and there was no bargaining chip quite like the thought of a bullet in your back.
Emerson went stiff and still.
“Charlie.”
“You want to talk,” Dust said. “Let’s talk. I want to go for a ride.”
He’d taken one of The Crew’s beat up decoy cars, knowing that there was no chance it had a tracking device on it, no bugs or any technology to speak of. Hell, the thing didn’t even have power windows.
Dust walked him to the passenger door in a strange mimic of chivalry.
“Put on your seatbelt and don’t fucking move. I will shoot you,” he lied.
“Chill, chill,” he said, drawing even breaths. “We’re good. We’re fine. Don’t do anything stupid.”
Dust circled in front of the car, watching him through the windshield before taking his place behind the wheel.
“There’s a coffee shop five minutes east of here. I’m going to drive us there. You’ll go inside, buy something, then come back out. Then I’m going to bring you back here. So you have ten minutes to elaborate on that little call, Emerson.”
He sighed hard as Dust pulled away from the curb.
“We seriously could’ve done this at your place,” he said. “I wasn’t lying when I said I just needed to talk to you alone. ”
“You can spend your ten minutes complaining about me wanting this meeting on my own terms, or you can start talking. It’s your chunk of time.”
“Right, fine. The voicemail. Abe.”
“Abe,” he said, as if needing to prove to himself that he could still say the nickname without fear of invoking some return to Charlie Judge.
“They want something solid or they’re pulling you out,” Emerson said. Dust barked a laugh. That was actually a better scenario than what he’d spent the previous night imagining. “I’m serious, Charlie. They’re not going to make it pretty if they do it.”
“They’ll take me out like Nick Short, then?”
“I don’t know,” he said quickly. “But I know they will extract you and you won’t see it coming.”
“If they could get to me that easily then they’d have gotten to Carrow the same way years ago,” Dust said.
Emerson fixed him with a stare and for a moment, he took his eyes off the road to return the look.
“Christ. You know, my gut told me that this was what was happening with you but then I kept thinking about you on that first day, sitting in your new apartment with your new clothes and your new name and that cocky grin on your face.”
“ Cocky ?”
“They turned you.”
“Nobody did shit to me,” he said, bristling.
“You’re a total fucking Stockholm Syndrome case. Holy shit, Judge. What’s it been — six months ?”
“Nobody is holding me goddamn hostage.”
“Holy shit,” he repeated. “Listen to yourself, Charlie.”
“I thought this meeting was about me listening to you .”
“Then listen to me now, Charlie Judge: the life you’re buying into is nasty, thankless, and extremely goddamn short. You’re lucky you’ve made it this far — but the minute A.R. Carrow and his cronies figure out what you’re hiding, it’s over. They will erase you.”
“You don’t know the first thing about The Company,” Dust said. He pulled into a turn lane, making a U back towards his house. He’d already had enough of this conversation “If you did, they’d have sent you in instead. But Carrow never would’ve brought you in.”
“Charlie, kid, I’m not the enemy here. I know that it’s seductive when you get in there. They money, someone to take care of you… You’re right — you know more about them than I do. But what I do know tells me that your future is anything but bright if you truly make the decision to be on the wrong side of the law. This isn’t you, Judge —”
“Would you stop fucking calling me that?”
The words struck him silent as if Dust had landed a slap across his face. He looked at Dust again, dazed.
“OK. I’m sorry, Dustin. I didn’t… I didn’t realize.”
Emerson was afraid of him. The gun hadn’t fazed him or the abduction, but Dust’s insistence that he call him by his name had him terrified.
“Don’t treat me like a mental case,” he snapped. “There’s more at play here than you can understand.”
“You’re right,” Emerson said. The quality of his voice had changed entirely. He just wanted to placate him — just wanted to get out of the car alive — and it was clear that he would agree to anything if it meant that Dust wasn’t going to harm him.
Christ. He really did think that The Company was made up of monsters. It was awful to realize.
They drove in silence for several minutes, Dust washed in self-loathing and anger, feeling like it was a great injustice that this stranger thought that just because he was a member of The Company that he would execute Emerson here in the car in cold blood .
Finally, when Emerson spoke again, his voice was steady. They were pulling up to his block.
“What do you want me to tell them? They’re going to keep calling. Leiby is worried and there are people higher up the food chain who want answers. Just say what you want me to tell them.”
“Tell them I need more time,” Dust said. “That’s all. Buy me time.”
“Ok, Wrenshall. You got it.”
The further he got away from the meeting, the more it felt to Dust like a dream.
When he returned to the penthouse, nothing had changed.
He hadn’t been brainwashed. These people were his family.
And in the week that followed, he was sad to see them go — watching both couples excitedly packing their bags for the week away. It would be the first time he’d been in the penthouse when every room wasn’t occupied.
It was harder to think about AIIB, about Emerson, when he was thinking so intently about what he wanted.
On Christmas morning , Carrow wasted no time in getting to the main event.
“You’re worse than a kid,” Dust said, laughing as Carrow hurried him out into the living room. “The sun’s barely up.”
“Still counts as Christmas,” the man insisted.
They hadn’t put up a tree before the rest of The Company left, but Carrow had found a tabletop tree made of tacky silver tinsel. He’d set it up on the kitchen counter, and both men had placed their presents in front of it: two boxes, both small, both neatly wrapped.
Carrow retrieved the boxes, passing the heavier one over to Dust and holding the lighter one, scrawled with an embellished “Boss” on the tag.
“At the risk of being rude,” Dust said, “I think I should go first. Your present is kind of… involved. ”
Carrow gave him an odd look but agreed immediately.
Dust ripped into the paper, revealing a gold box with the initials “AP” on top. Inside of the box was another box: this one slick and wooden and also branded “AP.”
“It’s a watch,” Dust joked. Carrow’s face fell immediately.
“ Dust! ”
“Shit, I didn’t think it was really a watch,” Dust said, laughing hard.
“You’re a real asshole sometimes, kid. Way to take the wind out of my sails.”
“Oh, come on, shit — ”
“Just open the goddamn thing.”
He did, pressing in the little gold button on the front of the box. It popped open, and inside on a soft bed of suede sat the most ridiculous watch Dust had ever seen in his life.
He didn’t even want to touch it. The thing was clearly a man’s watch with its heavy lines and thick band — but it was white gold and dripping with diamonds. Finally, he noticed the script behind it: Ademars Piguet .
“You got me a fucking Ademars ,” Dust said.
“I stole it,” Carrow said quickly. “From the Prince of Morocco.”
Dust was laughing so hard that he could barely breathe.
“Morocco has a prince? ”
“A prince who’s probably been fairly late to official functions since I lifted this right off his wrist in October. ”
“This is the gaudiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life, ” Dust said.
“Isn’t it terrible? Put it on,” Carrow said, lifting it out of the box. Together, they figured out how to work the clasp. The thing was impossibly heavy on his wrist.
“Where’d you get the box and everything else?”
Dust was expecting some story about the great heroics it had taken to infiltrate the prince’s hotel room and steal the box.
“Internet,” Carrow said, hitching a shoulder.
Dust laughed so hard he was hiccupping.
“It’s perfect ,” Dust said, wiping a tear out of his eye from laughter. Carrow knew he was beaming and didn’t care. He’d been half afraid that Dust wouldn’t like it because of how ridiculous the gift was — a luxury watch crusted in diamonds that pushed the thing’s worth past a million dollars. But, of course, it wasn’t the watch that was the gift, and Dust could see that.
It was the effort, the crime behind the watch, the planning it had taken and the solo execution.
“I love it,” Dust insisted, catching him behind the neck and pulling Carrow into a kiss. “Wayles is going to laugh himself silly. Christ, I can’t wait to wear it on a job. Can you imagine getting mugged by someone wearing a million-dollar goddamn watch?”
Dust was pleased. And so Carrow was pleased.
With the garish watch still on his wrist, Dust gestured to the small box in Carrow’s lap .
“OK — your turn.”
Carrow tore into the present, and the plain cardboard box under the paper was a sharp contrast to the opulent gold box that Dust’s gift had come in. Still, Carrow didn’t look disappointed as he opened it and lifted out two lengths of black velvet ribbon.
“What are these?” he asked, apparently delightfully perplexed.
Dust couldn’t bite down his smile any longer as he took the ribbons from Carrow’s hand.
“These are the first part of your present.”
“And they’re for…?” Carrow asked, watching Dust as he stood from the couch.
“They’re so you can look but not touch .”
Carrow hummed as Dust guided his wrists behind his head and looped the first velvet ribbon around them. He tied it tight, and then the second one before stepping back.
“Keep them there,” he instructed.
From the way Carrow’s eyes went sleepy and half-lidded, he clearly had gotten the idea of what the rest of his Christmas gift would be.
“Your present’s homemade,” Dust said through a crooked smile. “Hope you don’t mind.”
He began to strip, dragging his shirt off slowly.
“I don’t think I mind at all. I’ve heard I’m notoriously hard to shop for.”
Dust undid his belt and slowly lowered his pants, dragging a hand across his own groin and then stepping out of them.
“I mean, what was I supposed to get for the man who has everything?”
He took his place between Carrow’s knees. The man watched him as he took a leisurely pace in undressing Carrow from the waist down .
“I think you figured out the only thing I really wanted,” Carrow offered.
Dust held his already-hard cock gently, appreciating the weight of him and the clear bead of precum he’d be tasting in a moment. Carrow groaned into the air above him as if he could read Dust’s mind.
He started with dry lips on skin, each kiss escalating imperceptibly as more layers of stimulation came into play: pressure and noise and wetness. A silent kiss at the base of his balls, a quiet kiss against the skin of his inner thigh, a brushing kiss against the shaft. The room was silent except for them: Dust’s mouth working and Carrow breathing audibly.
Dust wet his lips and started again, following the same path with a measured pace.
And then a third round — this time with an open mouth.
At the end of this rotation, his tongue came into play in between sucking pink marks into Carrow’s thighs and then watching them disappear. When it seemed like perhaps that was all he was going to do — just kiss and worry Carrow’s skin — Dust flattened his tongue, held Carrow harder by the base, and painted a slow, broad stripe with his tongue that started at the thin skin of Carrow’s balls and only stopped when Dust had his first taste of precum.
Carrow groaned like he was in pain and when Dust looked up, the man was watching him intently. Dust basked in the moment, not afraid to play it up under Carrow’s gaze, moving the taste on his tongue to the front of his mouth and visibly savoring it before swallowing and wetting his lips again.
Carrow was flushed high on his cheeks, eyebrows knit over brown eyes that were already fighting desperation.
Dust returned to his task, spitting in his hand to slick him. At the first full stroke, Carrow’s cock throbbed against his palm. He twisted slowly, appreciating every plane with his fingers, careful not to establish a rhythm. He continued to stroke him unevenly as he dipped to kiss loud and wet against Carrow’s inner thigh. The man hummed and stilled, his breaths punctuated by rolling little moans that ebbed and flowed as Dust moved, reddening skin with his teeth in some places and lapping gently at others.
As his hands started to go tacky, he moved back to Carrow’s cock, stroking patterns against the shaft with his tongue until he was slick again, giving equal attention to every area but the head until he could tell that he’d pushed his teasing far enough. Then — and only then — did he mouth softly over the tip, all slick, sliding lips.
Carrow issued a soft, “ Oh my God, ” shifting on the couch, testing the bindings behind his head.
Dust did it again and again, taking him deeper with each stroke of his mouth until he was willing the back of his throat to relax. Carrow fell into a mantra of fuck fuck fuck as Dust’s crawling pace finally had him swallowing around Carrow’s entire length, pressing the tip of his nose into the bottom of Carrow’s belly as if trying to prove a point.
As Carrow’s hips rolled up to meet him, Dust pulled off just as gradually as he’d sunk down, Carrow bouncing free and desperate.
“ Jesus, Dust — do that again,” he begged, breathy.
“You’re not the boss of me again until the ribbons are off,” Dust said fondly, holding him by the base. Carrow sighed hard.
“You’re a real problem,” he said, shutting his eyes and hipping up softly into Dust’s grip.
Mercifully, Dust pumped the cock in his hand for a few strokes before lowering his face again to lap up and down Carrow’s length, uneven and never establishing a predictable pattern .
Dust pulled out every trick he could: mouthing with flushed lips, dragging his tongue slowly, sucking and stroking in between long pauses, just to make sure everything felt good but not too good for too long. He appreciated the change in the intensity and timbre of Carrow’s noises each time he paused to roll and lick his balls.
Finally, his teasing ended. Dust fell into the sort of pattern that could actually get someone off, sucking even strokes against Carrow’s head while he twisted in time with his hand. Carrow responded immediately, moaning softly with his movements.
It was like watching seconds tick off on a wall clock, except Dust didn’t have to count the steady, licking strokes. He knew exactly when to pull off, letting his grip go slack and his mouth go soft, trailing a teasing pattern as he took his lips and tongue away completely. He knew Carrow had almost hit the point of no return. He’d built a perfect orgasm and then abandoned it to keep teasing.
Carrow sighed hard, suddenly fighting to catch his breath.
Dust let several beats pass, letting Carrow’s building orgasm become a fading memory as Carrow groaned and strained against nothing. Then he started again: firm grip, bobbing head, swirling tongue. Carrow throbbed at the first real stroke, and his hips moved imperceptibly along with Dust’s movements. Dust pulled off again after a moment, brushing wet lips against sensitive skin, and Carrow let loose a moan that tapered into a whimper.
Dust kept up the game of stop and go until Carrow’s hips rocked up to encourage him, until he was leaning hard against the back of the couch and straining against the hand Dust used to keep his hips from moving freely. Dust pulled back to pause — but when he swallowed around Carrow the next time, he hummed and dropped both hands, encouraging him to move.
It had taken Carrow time to catch onto the game.
But the reality of Dust’s gift had dawned on him by the time Dust was encouraging Carrow to fuck up off the couch and down his throat. He took full advantage, knowing that finally he’d be granted release, pressing hard up off the couch and into Dust’s throat, letting loose a gravelly groan of relief at being given the chance to take what he wanted from Dust’s mouth. It was loud and sloppy and Dust took every stroke without hesitation, letting Carrow bury himself to the hilt. Carrow went at it helplessly — couldn’t have stopped if he wanted to, Dust’s sounds spurring him on, the sight of his cock disappearing into that perfect mouth mesmerizing.
The orgasms he had been denied so far rapidly built into a throb that seemed to span most of his body. He was so close — and finally relief was in sight. Dust didn’t seem in a hurry to pull off this time. He continued to hip up, astounded that Dust didn’t seem to be in discomfort other than the awkward cadence of his breathing as Carrow stroked in — but then he gagged loud and Carrow felt the muscles constrict around him as he issued a broken groan, the inevitable orgasm sputtering and slowing down at the realization that he might’ve hurt the kid.
Dust’s hands flew to Carrow’s hips, pushing him back down to the couch — but to Carrow’s great confusion, even as he pressed the man down, Dust followed his hips, gagging and choking on Carrow’s cock but still taking him as deep as he could, sinking and burying him more even as his hips were flush with the couch, before finally pulling off with an obscene wet noise.
It was like missing the last step on a flight of stairs.
It was worse than being denied an orgasm — it was like a goddamned anti-orgasm , and Carrow was pulsing at the sudden lack. There was a strange sound in the room and it took Carrow a moment to register the fact that he was the one making it: high and desperate as breath escaped pathetically from his lungs.
Dust just drank it in, holding Carrow’s hips and catching his breath, smiling and a little ragged as he observed the damage he’d wrought.
“If hands weren’t out of play, I’d be strangling you,” Carrow said.
“How’s your gift so far?” Dust teased, voice raw and raspy. Carrow squeezed his eyes shut, unable to deal with the way his hard-on bobbed helplessly at the noise.
“Horrible. Terrible. Don’t patronize me,” he said. “Your gift is a menace.”
“Hey,” Dust said, sounding suddenly annoyed and snapping his fingers. “Did I say to shut your eyes?”
Carrow couldn’t fight a smile as he opened his eyes and looked down at the man.
“Remind me, is this my present or yours?” Carrow asked.
Dust didn’t bother answering him. His grin went crooked.
It’s awful, Carrow thought, to be teased by someone who knows exactly the kind of power they have over you. Because, Christ: the kid was beautiful even on his worst days, and just a surreal, over-the-top wet dream when he’d been physically worked up by sucking cock.
His mouth was flushed as he sat on his heels and beamed up at Carrow, the sheen of sweat on his forehead and spit on his chin doing nothing to give Carrow any sort of relief. It was torture to rake his eyes over Dust’s body and be denied touch. And he knew just where he’d start: a palm against the visible outline of Dust’s cock, pressing against those briefs that left nothing to the imagination .
Dust’s jaw went slack as he thought, letting a hand trail over Carrow’s stomach under his shirt as he contemplated — Carrow assumed — his next torture method.
Dust was still smug and smiling when he moved up to the couch, straddling Carrow’s lap, grinding against him as he reached behind the man’s head. At last, the velvet ribbon was removed, and Carrow pulled his hands back to the front of his body. He reached immediately for Dust, but he just slapped Carrow’s hands away softly.
“You still don’t get to use those,” Dust said, sneering. “Don’t get it fucked up — no hands.”
Carrow smirked and reached out again, hooking a fingertip in the band of Dust’s briefs.
“I’ll make it worth your while,” Carrow offered — and God, would he.
“Hey — you trying to ruin my gift? It’s no Audemars, but I worked hard on this.”
“C’mon, it’s the thought that counts,” Carrow said, trying and failing to catch him in a kiss. “Why’d you let me free?”
The faux-anger dissolved and a dangerous smile played across Dust’s face.
“Because there’s nothing to tie you to on the couch,” Dust said. “And I’m really going to need you to stay still for the next part.”
They regrouped in the bedroom , and as Dust bound Carrow’s wrists again and then tied them to the bedframe above his head, Carrow silently thanked the past version of himself that had opted for a traditional headboard rather than a sleek, modern bed.
Dust marked up his neck as Carrow strained up against him, unbuttoning his shirt until it was laying open .
Still annoyingly clad in his briefs, then, Dust moved out of Carrow’s line of sight, fumbling with something in a drawer before returning. He smiled wickedly then, holding something behind his back with one hand and dragging his last garment off his hips with the other.
Finally, he returned to the bed, walking up on his knees.
Dust produced a bottle of lube from behind his back, letting some drip into his palm. He shut his eyes in pleasure then as he sat back on his heels and slicked himself.
“Why the secrecy?” Carrow asked, drinking in the sight of him, the way he rocked into his own hand as the muscles in his torso flexed.
“The lube isn’t the secret.”
Still, he was in no rush to reveal his plot yet — and Carrow groaned as he watched the man put on a show, entirely aware of how badly Carrow wanted to hold him by the waist, to push the momentum forward and satisfy them both. The denial had left him in an aching lust — and of course, that was the whole point.
Dust closed his eyes again, blushing as he moaned at his own ministrations. He was beautiful like that, exposed and maybe a little embarrassed. He slowed after a moment, dropping himself and reaching behind to retrieve what he’d hidden so far.
It was a toy. Sleek silicone, intimidatingly long, with a thick base.
“Don’t worry,” Dust said quickly, catching the inadvertent flicker of fear in Carrow’s eyes. “It’s for me.”
Carrow sucked a quiet breath at the realization of what he was about to watch, Dust turning so that his back faced the head of the bed. Carrow heard the flick of the lube bottle again, Dust’s hands moving in front of his body, and then he was holding the toy behind himself, lining it up, arching his back and —
“ Fuck, ” Dust said quietly at the first stretch.
The sight was beyond erotic. Carrow could see every muscle in the younger man’s back as he moved to take it, sinking down slowly. The quality of Dust’s breathing changed instantly, too. He was sucking breaths the way he’d do sometimes before he came, shuddering a little.
It was so different from the way things normally progressed — from the way Carrow always forced the pace slower when it was time for prep. Dust was so impatient, and it had always struck Carrow that the man hated the necessity. Somehow it hadn’t occurred to him to use anything but his hands, but watching how quickly Dust took the toy, how easily he seemed to sink back and the apparent pleasure he was getting from the quicker stretch… it was like watching a world of possibilities open up before him.
Maybe you can teach an old dog new tricks, Carrow thought.
Dust stroked himself as he set a pace, fucking himself slowly on the toy as he adjusted. What had been just a dull ache for Carrow became profound and sharp. It was torture to look and not touch, to watch Dust be spread and not be in control of it. Soon, Dust was bobbing greedily there on the foot of the bed, and an awful thought occurred to Carrow.
“Are you going to finish without me?”
Dust looked at him, turning at the hip and catching him with a glance over his shoulder. God, it was even worse that way, the planes of his back twisting as he worked up and down, the way the position made his waist look so narrow even as his hips and shoulders flared.
“Would you like that better?” Dust asked.
“ Fuck no.”
Carrow answered so quickly that it made Dust laugh.
“Then I won’t,” Dust promised, turning back away from him .
Carrow sighed hard. He could feel his pulse through his goddamn cock.
“Please, Dust,” he begged. “Watching you is going to kill me. You can’t have pity on an old man at Christmas?”
Dust laughed softly and slowed, rocking through his final strokes down.
After all the teasing, Dust wasted no time: discarding the toy, grabbing the lube, and straddling Carrow’s hips. Finally, mercy.
Carrow wanted to reach up to trace the shapes that Dust’s body made in the dim light between kisses and friction and breaths. But as he strained against the soft ribbons, Dust reached back and between them, fingertips ghosting finally against Carrow’s cock, slicking him, moving him, and finally guiding him, pressing him against Dust.
Dust shifted his weight, his grip going tighter around the base of Carrow’s cock — and then, the man who had been the center of his world since June, his employee, his roommate, his friend, and the one person he’d come to want to please above all others, was sitting back, lowering himself impossibly slow onto Carrow’s cock. The tight, hot heat made him almost dizzy after wanting for so long, made him throb, made him make a noise he barely recognized.
Dust let out a low, hissed “ffffuck” as he sat back until his ass was flush with Carrow’s thighs, and Carrow could hear his breathing change yet again.
Even after the toy , the prep, the show, even after Dust had lulled himself into a complete moment of zen-like relaxation, Carrow was almost too big to take without more prep. Dust had to will himself to relax around Carrow’s girth, sucking in a deep, quiet breath .
Frustrated and wanting, Carrow pushed the pace immediately, each movement feeling exaggerated by the sudden stimulation. Carrow pressed into his prostate without even trying, and despite the fact that Dust could barely catch his breath with the overwhelming sensation of Carrow buried in him, his own cock throbbed at the stimulation.
His body began to relax and accommodate the new demands, and Dust rocked his hips faster. Discomfort ebbed quickly, and all Dust was left with was pleasure as he peered into the older man’s face, watching his reactions, watching Carrow watch him. His arms strained uselessly against the binding, and he looked impossibly good like that: strung out, needy, pupils blown wide with lust.
Putting on a show had turned him on more than he thought it would, embarrassment ebbing and then erased when the toy was finally inside him, stretching him. He’d been close even just riding the simulation there on the foot of the bed — and the real thing was much better, Carrow bucking up into him, working his hips to meet Dust’s long strokes.
Carrow moaned and fucked him like it was their last day on earth: deeply, thoroughly, and not letting a millimeter of his cock go unstroked as he bucked desperately up. As much as he’d enjoyed the teasing and the power, there was a different kind of satisfaction in being fucked evenly and enthusiastically. But Dust hadn’t expected Carrow to last so long after forcing edging on the man, wouldn’t have been shocked if Carrow had only lasted a few strokes.
He was too close already, and so he placed a hand down on Carrow’s torso, forcing the man to sit still and taking over.
Dust’s movements were unhurried and unstrained, like the movements of an athlete or a dancer. He seemed to know just where to put his hands, pressing palms down against Carrow’s chest one moment and then bringing his hands up behind his head the next. With his hands laced behind his head, every inch of him was visible in the dim light moving on top of Carrow there on the bed: the efficient muscles working under tanned and perfect skin as his hips rolled against Carrow, the hard-on that dipped and ghosted against Carrow’s belly.
Dust rode him slow, and because Carrow couldn’t satisfy the urge to drag a hand up the man’s torso, he found himself drinking the sight of him in.
He was incredible: mouth ruddy and fallen open as he moaned, eyes alternately going wide to gaze down at Carrow and squeezing shut as he rode each wave of pleasure. His hair — gone a little longer than when they’d met and shaggy in between trims — fell across his forehead in a way that suddenly made him seem younger. The thought came out of nowhere, then: that if someone laid a hand on Dust, Carrow would burn down all of Las Abras to find the motherfucker — and an unexpected affection surged along with the orgasm building deep in his belly.
“Fuck, I’m close,” Carrow breathed out, moving again. Dust let him move, riding his bucking, smiling down now, beaming at Carrow with teeth bared for a moment before it was too much and his mouth fell open around another moan.
He’d expected Carrow to come fast, but as Dust wrapped a hand around his own needy cock, he realized that he’d be the one reaching orgasm with surprising speed. His breath went funny from the first stroke, his muscles tensing around Carrow .
Dust’s entire world went electric with the beginning of his orgasm, his breath hitching and shaky as he began to come.
Dust had extracted every molecule of pleasure from him that could be had without orgasm. Carrow had been on the edge of a cliff for so long and been denied so much that he almost wasn’t sure which muscles he needed to relax, which gate he needed to unbar in his mind to finally allow a release.
But as soon as he felt the hot pulse on his belly, Carrow’s mind and body began to unlock. After Dust was spent, he ground back onto Carrow’s hips, huffing with exertion and moaning again. Maybe he sensed the difficulty in that moment, the fact that wires somewhere had gotten crossed.
He took Carrow by the hips, urging him to move, to fuck up off the bed into him in the way that he’d been denied before. Carrow was happy to comply, claiming him greedily, straining at his bindings.
“Are you gonna come for me boss? Keep giving me that big cock — “
Carrow groaned — there it was. His orgasm started to kick loose somewhere in his body, sparked by the dirty talk.
“I need you to come in my ass, Ansel,” he continued, breathing hard. “I know it’s gonna feel so good to fill me up all the way after all that — ”
The pleasure of an orgasm like Carrow had never known began the process of unfurling itself into his muscles. What he felt was beyond a release, the sensation seizing him from top to bottom, burning a brand of stimulation from the inside of his body outwards.
“Holy hell,” Carrow said.
“Fuck yes — just like that. Fuck me, boss — ”
Time stretched out in front of him, the edges of his world going dark and far away. Carrow knew very little beyond the immediate reality of Dust bobbing above him, felt like he wasn’t controlling his body anymore as electricity fired between his muscles in a way that didn’t make sense, as his perception of pleasure — so heightened for so long — seemed to distort and amplify even further — his entire existence reduced to the deep contentment that settled then into his chest while the nerves of his body shattered into bliss.
He was only tangentially aware of the sound he made, strangled and choked, as he came into Dust, still unable to grab and stroke that body above him, barely hearing himself form Dust’s name over and over but knowing that he was doing it nonetheless.
It was undeniably the most incredible orgasm of Carrow’s entire life.
He came out of it slowly, emerging like he’d lost a chunk of time and piecing details together like an amnesiac. His hands were still bound and his body ached from the strange posture. Dust slid forward gently, disengaging and reaching over Carrow, untying him and then bringing his arms down slowly, kissing his wrists.
“I didn’t know you had a show like that in you,” Carrow said, holding him close.
“It was good?”
“Better than the Bolshoi Ballet.”
Dust snorted and let his head rest against Carrow’s chest. He moved his wrist to lay across Carrow’s belly, and they both enjoyed the way the gaudy watch caught the light.
“What can I say, boss? I guess you bring out the best in me.”
Dust didn’t contact AIIB after that.
He missed his call in January. 2015 was looking up.
In February, he turned 31. Maybe Emerson had tried calling to wish him a happy birthday. He’d never know, since he’d started deleting each one of the man’s voicemail’s.