Don't... 04 Backlash (21 page)

“Need lube,”
whispered Martin. “Any suggestions?”

Fuck. Logan
thought quickly. He’d been in the bathroom... “Box in the hall,
might be something in there. There’s also one there from the
kitchen....”

“Play for me,
please,” said Martin, a hand brushing Logan’s cheek. But Logan was
already there, his hand stroking his cock again, long, slow...
needing that sweet mouth or damn sexier ass on his cock.

The sound of
boxes being opened came through from the hall, the question of how
the sealant was easily sliced open not really filtering through as
he fisted the head of his cock, sometimes slipping a thumb over the
slit.

The only thing
to cool him down was the touch that now ran down his outer
thigh.

“You look good
there,” murmured Martin, a blush touching Logan’s cheek. A few
items were placed down by Logan’s feet, but Martin’s lick at his
cock disturbed any thoughts of life beyond that. Logan pushed his
cock back, pulling down on the foreskin to encourage Martin to
swirl his tongue around it. And Martin was there a second later.
Logan eased his head up a little, watching that tongue play as he
slowly fisted his own cock, loving how Martin would catch foreskin
between his teeth.

“Fuck,” he
groaned, hips again shifting up. Martin brushed a hand across his
abs, almost willing to sink lower but loving his own tease.
Coveralls were still bunched at his hips, showing just a touch of
his ass and Logan briefly closed his eyes. “What did you find?” he
hissed behind his teeth. “Please tell me you found something.”

“Just a touch
of coconut oil, a johnny from your jacket, some...”

“Coconut oil?”
Logan lifted his head again. Martin tugged at Logan’s jeans to get
access to his balls, and Logan had to stop play as Martin kissed at
each one, then took the first into his mouth. “Christ, Mart.”

A hand replaced
the massage of his left ball, a little rough, a little distracted.
“Hm,” said Martin. “Good lube substitute. Also great around the
kitchen.... A high constitution of saturated fats makes it
withstand high cooking temperatures. Makes it good for sautéing,
roasting, baking...”

“You like to
cook as well as fuck, Martin?” Logan offered a smile.

Martin didn’t
answer, just paused. A shiver came, then a look, such a playful
fucking look.

Martin
straddled him on the table, ass finding the perfect seat in Logan’s
crotch. It left Logan’s cock open for playing, and Logan hitched
his hips up, nearly taking Martin up with him. Long dark hair fell
across grey eyes, and in the dim light, it shaped his face, almost
offering the perfect hoodie to hide everything apart from pale-moon
lips.

“I might have
lied a little.” Martin licked at the blood coating his fingertips.
“I might have lied a lot.”

Blood? Where
the fuck had the blood come from? Logan’s stomach twisted with the
lowering of Martin’s tone, the red-rose tint to pale-moon lips.

Martin slipped
a knife out from the back of his coveralls. “Cut myself a little.
Can’t decide yet whether it was accident or...” He grinned, licking
the blade. “Thrill.”

Stupid. So stupid.
The strap around his wrist felt tight. But it was only one
hand, and he could hit with the other—

Martin slammed
the blade down, catching the loose skin between Logan’s thumb and
finger and pinning his free hand to the table.

“
Might
have been thrill,” he said distractedly as Logan cried out,
“
Fuck
,
fuck
.” Tugs
came on the tethered hand, Logan’s terror over tearing his hand to
shreds forcing his other to be still.

And for his
efforts, Martin’s hand met his throat, choking off his cries.
“Shush, shush,” whispered Martin. “You said control was mine.”
Blood trickled into the polished wood of the table, and Martin
reached down between them, gripping Logan’s cock, before he eased
down and licked around the blade, where steel dug into skin. The
next kiss he was forced to taste came with a coppery hint. His
own.

All pressure
was still on Logan’s throat, forcing him to gasp and struggle for
breath, and Martin heated up, fisting Logan’s cock. “Like my
control?”

The grip
switched from Logan’s throat to the top of his scalp as he started
to see shadows fade into black. Head forced to look down, he saw
Martin was lost to his rutting, hips dipping and shifting in time
with the rough grip fisting Logan’s cock. Coveralls had slipped off
his ass, exposing his hips, the hardness of his cock as it dampened
his lower abs. He looked ready to come, yet not willing to in the
same twisted hitch of breathing.

A lick came at
Logan’s jaw, then Martin caught both of their cocks together and
fucked into his hand, still keeping the friction and blood flowing
in Logan’s.

“You sick
fuck,” whispered Martin, nipping at his jaw. “Nobody offers to be
bound like a hog on their first fuck.” He forced Logan to look down
again and Logan groaned, gurgling something incoherent as he choked
a tear. The movement had put pressure on his hand, causing it to
throb and bleed more. “And you’re still fucking hard. Impressive,”
added Martin.

He was still
hard, and Logan cried disgust at his body’s reaction.

Martin dipped
his hips one more time, groaning. “Fuck. Any wonder why I play when
you fucks enjoy it? I mean, I’m doing my bit for society here.”

He sat up a
moment later, tugging Logan’s cock back with him and slip-sliding
his hand down and around his length.

“So, question:
why are you so eager to act the fuck whore and keep Jacky boy here,
hm?” He smiled. “You expecting company? Somebody let you know I was
here? Did someone say they were gonna come here and sort me?” He
fisted another length down Logan’s cock and Logan cried out in
fear, most in bubbling sickness. “Please tell me I’ll have more to
play with soon?”

“Stop...
please.”

“Safe word,”
said Martin, reaching for something by Logan’s feet. “You never
called it.”

“
I
don’t fucking know what you’re talking about.”

A chuckle, a
play of hand, this time at Martin’s cock. “No?” In the dim light of
the doorway, a glint caught something metallic. The ragged edges
belonged to the teeth you’d find inside the likes of cooking foil
cartons. It would cut a straight hole through the sheet, but if it
caught a finger then—

“Fuck,” cried
Logan. Martin dragged it down, cutting from navel to pubic
hairline.

“Fuck is too
much of a generalisation,” mumbled Martin. “You could use it in a
number of contexts, like expressing defiance: fuck you, annoyance:
fuck off: disbelief: fuck no, not to mention the want and need:
fuck yes.... So how about we start at A and work your way to Z to
find something that’s unique to you? We’re bound to find a safe
word somewhere in there.”

“You fuck. You
sick fucking fuck,” cried Logan, neck muscles straining.

Martin
shifted the foil cutter to Logan’s hip. It rested for a moment on a
mirror of the position of Martin’s scar, then, looking more like he
was drawing bow across violin—he sliced skin, all finished as he
held his bow out and closed his eyes for the roar of
encore
.
That wasn’t enough to create bone-deep cuts, just enough to offer
paper-cut offerings on skin.

“Bastard—you
bastard.”

“Yeah.” Head
still tilted back and eyes closed, Martin smiled. “But you like
it.” A hand ran down Logan’s shaft, forcing Logan to hiss and bow
his body off the table, lifting Martin slightly. “See?”

He groaned as
the foil cutter was given a resting place, the bloodstained teeth
looking sated for a while, then Martin picked up a bottle of
something.

“Lemon juice.”
He even held it up for Logan to inspect. Logan writhed beneath him,
seeing him flick the lid off the bottle. Martin held the lemon
juice close to the wound on his hip—then tipped two small drops of
liquid onto the cut.

His cry hit the
dining room, extending beyond into the hall, to fill up the house,
but something darker burned beneath it.

“Yeah, there we
go, there we go.” Martin came down close, lip-to-lip close, a hand
now around Logan’s throat. “Yeah, you’re beginning to feel just a
little stupid for allowing me in, but there’s a sweeter part
that... needs me in.” Martin rutted once, sliding cock against
cock. Work coveralls slipped off his ass a little more and Logan
groaned. “Go on. Tell me no.” A lick came at Logan’s throat.
“Please.”

Logan was lost
to the sting on his hip, the contrast of pain and the thrill his
cock got from being rubbed... rutted against... how it drove heat
into Martin. And anger settled deep, how Martin had exposed his
stupidity, but also how the heat in Martin said he needed to feed
his own sickness now, to fuck.

Logan twisted
close to Martin’s ear. “It’ll get to you some day,” he
whispered.

Martin stopped
for a minute, his breathing heavy, heated, then he pulled back,
gripping under Logan’s ass and tugging his jeans and boxers down
enough to expose his hole. As he took time to slip a condom on, he
smiled down at Logan. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Logan grunted
as his legs were shunted to the side, then cried out as lemon juice
dripped onto his hole.

“Ooh.” Martin
winced, looking down as he rubbed his tip against it, his grip on
Logan’s leg ensuring he stayed still. “Sweet.”

Logan squirmed,
crying out. He knew the sting that would come with his fucking;
he’d used ginger on women, had even taken some himself, but
this....

The tip punched
through and Martin dropped his head to his chest before pulling
back and forcing his way back in. He didn’t stop until he hit root
deep, giving a cry out, and gripping at Logan’s cock and making him
cry out too.

Logan froze his
breath, expecting hard... fast... brutal.... But the look lowering
Martin’s gaze called slow, deep, casual, because time and control
were all his now. It made it worse for Logan’s fight against
enjoying it, needing, loving the creeping need for control. Martin
kept one arm behind him as he fucked, keeping balance as sweat
found a way down his pecs, to the flat of his stomach. All
controlled effort, shared kink, but one that cried out just how
sick Logan was for wanting to come.

He cried it a
moment later, with Martin barely given time to settle his pace,
then Logan twisted his head away as Martin took as long as he
needed to cry out his own. It seemed to last a lifetime.

Logan opened
his eyes to find Martin over him, hands steadying him either side
as he shivered out the last ounces of come. Only as the come
stopped spilling, Martin didn’t stop shivering.

Pain throbbed
from Logan’s ass and hand. In the heat he’d pulled his hand free
from the knife that pinned him down. Head down, Martin blindly
found it and a thud was heard as he tugged the knife free from the
wood.

In the light of
the doorway, it was twisted this way... that.

Logan cried
out, barely noticing as Martin sliced it lightly across his own
abs. It caught Logan’s ass cheek a little, but it seemed more of a
distracted cut. Martin yelped, and a heavier shivering took over,
then Martin jolted, enough to knock the lemon juice off the table.
He kept the knife as he hit the floor a second later, then
scrambled back against the wall.

Martin cried
out a name soon after as he sliced over his own abs, and Logan
swore it was, “Jack.” Followed soon after by Gray’s.

“I th-thought
this place was on the buyer’s market?” Jan leaned forward to look
out of the Mercedes window. The rain had helped steam up the view,
so Jan added a wipe of sleeve over window screen to get a better
look outside. His attention lay on Keal’s front door. “And if so...
who the hell’s car is that? And why are all the lights still on?”
Gray flicked a look at him.

They’d pulled
up on the driveway in pretty much the same spot that Gray had taken
over seven months ago. Brennan and Carr had been with him,
alongside with them a few CID and MI5 operatives. Jan had stayed
mostly in the Mercedes back then; Gray forcing the issue,
considering Jan had stumbled away from Vince’s hold just an hour
earlier and hadn’t looked able to string thought together let alone
force one foot in front of the other. He’d seen enough and Gray
hadn’t wanted to add to his nightmares. Only Jan had followed him
in.

Business had
mixed with extreme pleasure back then, but Gray had still reined in
his method, giving Keal a quick exit.

Now only one
car, except his, sat on the courtyard, and as nothing had been seen
on the run up to Keal’s house, Martin’s hijacked car had been
dumped. Gray had a feeling it wouldn’t be far from the perimeter.
Martin was still working on their being security back by the main
gates.

“You don’t have
to go in there,” said Gray, switching off the lights.

Jan was itching
distractedly at his arm. When he looked at Gray, he stopped, but a
shivering seemed to take over. “You sure? No abstract digs on
missing a... a few balls if I stay here?” The reply worried Gray.
Jan had never asked for an out before. But then this wasn’t a place
to revisit, not for such a soft-hearted soul.

“No. No
abstract digs. You stay here. Same as last time,” he said gently,
looking over at the house as he pulled out his phone. “If anyone
but me approaches, they aren’t friendly.”

“Including
Jack?”

Gray didn’t
answer that, and Jan looked away. Gray stroked at the back of his
hand, then reached for the door. “Keys are in the ignition. If at
any time you feel your safety’s breached, you go. Clear? If you see
Jack on his own... you drive.”