Sex in C Major
Chapter 8

"That's your no. Say checkmate, and everything ends. I let you go, we don't do this again. Say no, I will continue. Say stop, I will continue. Say checkmate, and I will actually stop. If you don't say it, I'll presume you're consenting. Got it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Want this to stop?"

"No, sir."

"What do you do if you want it to end?"

"Say checkmate."

Daz nodded, then jerked his head at the bed. It had been stripped bare, save for a single sheet over the mattress. "Get comfortable. I'm busy. You stay absolutely silent. If my partner hears you, or guesses you're here, then things are going to get really ugly and no amount of chess moves will save you. Understood?"

A spike of terror shot through Stefan's gut, but he nodded.

"And if I replace out you've been wanking in here," Daz murmured, finally stepping close to brush his lips over Stefan's ear, "I'll make sure I break even. And I'll break you in the process. So I advise you to keep your thoughts clean."

"Yes, sir."

And just as abruptly as it had all started, it ended again. Daz gathered Stefan's abandoned clothes and swept out, slamming and locking the door behind him.

Leaving Stefan standing naked in the middle of a Spartan room, with only an ancient mobile phone and a view of a garage roof to entertain him.

Slowly, Stefan moved to sit on the corner of the bed...and dropped a hand to his aching dick.

Daz wouldn't know, right?

So he imagined what would happen if Daz found out, and began to rub.

The phone said it was half past twelve before the house fell quiet again.

This faceless partner seemed to have been out when Stefan had arrived-he'd returned around half nine, and there'd been a lot of loud chatter in some other language. The partner was a boyfriend, his voice choppier and more animated than Daz's, and at one point he had been right outside the door. Stefan had stayed so still and quiet, his muscles had felt sore by the time the guy had gone away again.

Still, locked in the spare room let Stefan learn a few things. Daz was bilingual, switching from English to...otherish, whatever it was, and back again within seconds. He laughed a lot. His boyfriend was called Ian or something similar, but Stefan didn't hear Ian speak any English, so that might not be right. They had a cat. Daz made lunch for wherever Ian was going this afternoon.

And wherever he was going, it would be a while.

Because when the front door closed at half past twelve, the phone buzzed once on the mattress

Just you and me now. Last chance to think twice.

Stefan swallowed, and put the phone on the windowsill. Out of reach. He lay down on the bed, uncertain of how Daz would want him, and eventually turned on his front to hide his breasts. Loose, they felt horrible and strange; pinned under his own ribs, bracketed by his folded arms, they felt more normal. More okay. Where Daz could neither see nor touch them.

Even if it left his lower half helpless. Stefan wouldn't be able to reach out from here. If Daz held him down in this position, Stefan would be able to do exactly nothing. Daz could finger him, fuck him, fill him-do anything, and Stefan would have to take it.

His mouth went dry at the thought. His dick swelled.

Then he heard footsteps coming up the stairs.

He was already sweating. The room was cold, but Stefan was almost slick with it. His stomach was in knots. He felt impossibly tight-he wouldn't be able to take fingers, never mind the heavy cock he'd held through Daz's jogging bottoms. His fingers were shaking under his chest.

He was scared.

And yet as the footsteps stopped outside the bedroom door, and the lock slowly turned over, there was an unmistakeable heat building under his skin. An emptiness inside. A yearning.

The door opened.

And closed again.

Stefan, eyes screwed shut, could sense Daz's presence in the room more than he could hear it. He could feel someone watching-but he still jumped when a hand landed on the back of his knee and ran, heavy and hard, up his leg to his arse. The cheek was squeezed. Hard enough to bruise. It made Stefan clench his thighs, and he couldn't stop the whimper when the other cheek was subject to the same grip.

"Quiet."

Stefan bit his lip. Both hands were on him now, squeezing his thighs and waist in painful clumps. He lay still as possible, relaxing when he was released only to clench up again with every new squeeze. It was like a strange massage, pleasurable and painful all at once.