I feel ridiculous setting the whole thing up. There's something surreal in hanging an exercise mat on the wall as if it were a picture or a full-length mirror, and then tugging at it in case it's the slightest bit willing to fall down. And when you have to bring out the stepladder, the stud finder, and the electric drill to modify the ceiling in your bedroom, maybe you've gone a little far, even if it is kind of fun to test it and make sure you hit the beam, so you swing a little instead of pulling down the plaster. So the dark blue foam's up against the wall, and it holds even when I push against it, and the hook's in the ceiling, with the rope hanging there halfway to suicide.

He knows something's up when he comes in the door, even though I've cleaned up every sign of modification. I can see it in his eyes, even though he doesn't ask over dinner, just tells me about his day and this case he's studying. But he makes a point of mentioning that guy he's been working with, again, just to make me laugh. "You're getting a little old for a sugar daddy."

"I don't think he's the type anyway." He shrugs and grins at me, and I can feel my brain soften a little with that familiar 'God, I love him,' and the other half of that is how much I want him. The rest of dinner is a blur, nothing special, nothing awful, and I hardly taste it because I'm too busy looking at him: the way he is right now, and the way he'll be as soon as he finishes his damned lemonade and gets up. I sigh, his lips twitch into a grin for a second, and then I know he's teasing me.

I lean over and kiss him. He tastes like lemon and thyme. He laughs. "What's the matter?"

I put my hand in his lap and grin at the way his eyes widen for a moment before he grins back. "You're a tease."

"That would imply that you're not going to get what I'm offering." He kisses my cheek.

"Maybe. You're still a tease." I stand up, offer him a hand up and a quick, friendly grope before I tug him upstairs to the bedroom. The door's shut and I get between it and him. I pull the blindfold out of my pocket and offer it to him. "D'you want to do this?"

He grins at me. "I've been wondering what you were planning."

"Do you want to?" I ask again.

He takes the blindfold. "Sure."

I help him put it on, to make sure it's not going to come untied at an inconvenient moment, and then I open the door and lead him through it, one hand on each shoulder. He doesn't move unless I nudge him a little, trusting me not to knock him into a wall. Every couple of steps I pause and nibble on his ear to make him shiver. I moved the bed earlier -- not far, but far enough that it might feel weird blind. When he's sitting on the edge of it, I tell him to take his clothes off, which he does in full consciousness that I can see him -- slowly, grinning at me, and occasionally pausing to reach toward me. Naked Jeff is not a force to be trifled with; I come within a second of deciding that everything is going to take too long and just getting into bed with him then, but I decide that that would ruin the surprise.

When he's done undressing, I take off my clothes, letting them rustle enough so he knows what I'm doing. He sits there quietly, like I'm not stripping two feet away, and I feel an urge to see his expression. That's the drawback of blindfolds, even though sometimes they can be really useful.

Once we're both naked, I sit next to him. "Kiss me." He touches my shoulder, then my chin, trying to figure out where I am, then kisses me. I run my hand down his chest, pinching each nipple a little, then resting it on his hip. After a minute I pull away and reach for the cuffs sitting at the head of the bed. I take each of his hands in turn and lock them into the padded circles, then move them a little to check the fit. "Are they comfortable?"

He nods. He's gone into being stoic; I threw him off-balance and he doesn't know how long this is going to go on, or what's going to happen. But he can't clam up and push this aside. I stroke him a couple of times, and he relaxes a little bit. "Be here, Jeff."

He sighs. "I am."

That's not a noise I can ignore. I hug him, and he leans on my shoulder. Maybe I pushed him too far, even though it's nothing we haven't done before. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." He nuzzles my shoulder and sits up again.

"Are you ready?" It's taken months to get to this point, where he trusts me enough to let me take control out of his hands. If he wants to stop, then I've been dumb enough to overestimate this, and we'll stop and reevaluate. I don't want to, of course, but it's entirely up to him.


I get up and put a hand on his hands. "Stand up. There's nothing over you."

He stands neatly into my arms, holding my hand for balance, and I kiss him again before I lead him over to the modified wall. "Put your hands over your head."

I can almost hear his confusion, but he does it. I walk around him and realize that the distance is still a little off. "Back up until your shoulders touch my hand." His skin is smooth, a little sweaty, and warm. He's a few inches from the wall, now, and I can tug the rope down and ease it through the cuffs. A knot later, in an application that the Scout Master who taught it to me surely never envisioned, and Jeff won't be able to lower his hands until we've finished. I run my hand down his chest and let him realize this. His breathing quickens a little. I nibble his earlobe and ask, "All right?"

He doesn't answer immediately, which is all to the good. Let him think it through, let him be comfortable entirely at my mercy, and we've won the battle; I have a thoroughly gorgeous young man in front of me, and he needs to know that whatever I do will be safe for him. "Yes," he says, and I let out a breath, relieved.

"Do you have any idea how you look?" I ask him, running my hand down his back and over the curve of his ass. He shivers as I push his legs apart, making it so that he can't quite stand with his feet flat on the floor. "Beautiful, Jeff. Every line of you." My fingers trace his side, his stomach, over his erect nipples. "And I could do anything I wanted to you, like this." He shivers again, from the words or from my hand on his cock. "You make me want to take your picture, gorgeous."

He laughs at that, and I put an arm around his shoulders. "Shh. I want this to last -- that's all. I want to remember you like this --" I lick his ear between each word "-- naked, vulnerable, hard as hell, and mine." He sighs, but doesn't protest this, and I smile and let him go. "My brave Jeff," for he's that and more, to put himself in such a position when I hadn't warned him and he knew that there would be no consequences in refusing it.

Touching him makes my pulse race and my eyes haze with wanting him, but it isn't quite enough. I pinch his nipple in a sort of goodbye, then cross the room and pick up the lube I left on the nightstand, and I think for a second if I need anything else. But it's been a year since either of us messed around with anyone but each other, despite frequent temptations and infrequent possibilities. It's another level of trust, and sometimes it chafes like rope around my wrists because I want to kiss that boy or fuck that man right then.

But instead of the impersonal, medical tang of latex, I can taste Jeff when I kneel in front of him, and it's worth every little sacrifice to trust him and to know he trusts me. He isn't perfectly balanced, and he leans toward me when I put a hand on his hip to brace him. "Hold still," I tell him, and to make that more difficult I ease a well-slicked finger into him.

He shudders and whimpers a little, but tries not to move in any significant way. I know he wants to and the tension makes him tremble. "You're so beautiful," I tell him again, and he sighs and presses against my fingers. "God, Jeff." I let him go for a moment and stand to put an arm around him, under his arms. With my knee, I gently ease his thighs farther apart, and he leans on me. I can feel his breath catch when I press my fingers back into him, and my patience deserts me after a few moments.

I have to let him go for a few moments to find the lube, and the time stretches into a minute, maybe two, as I slick it onto my cock. He's unspeakably sexy like that, his legs wide, his face red, breathing hard. He's everything a man should be, strong, handsome, full of energy and sex -- and he's mine. He let me put him in this position where he can't defend himself from anything, least of all me. I can do anything I want with him. Right now I want to look at him, and he has to let me, even though I can see the frustration in the way his calves shake. And he'll wait like that until I'm finished with him because he decided to let me choose.

"I'm going to release your hands," I tell him, and I put my arm around him again to support him before I untie the knot. It messes up his balance and he falls away from me -- three inches, maybe, until he hits the wall, where he gasps and laughs. "I didn't know that was there."

"You're fine." I release the cuffs and the blindfold and toss them onto the bed. He embraces me, and I can feel him shivering. "Lean on the wall. Like that. Kiss me."

He does his best to tell me how much he wants me without a word. By the end of it, I want him at least as badly, enough that the bed seems impractically far away. I nudge his thighs apart again. "You want this here?"

"Yes." In case I had any lingering doubts, he gets on tiptoe and puts his hands on my hips, pulling me closer. I kiss him again as I slide into him, and he breaks the kiss off after a minute. "Don't be gentle." His voice is rougher than normal, and his fingernails dig into my hips.

"God, Jeff." I kiss him again and brace myself against the wall for balance, thinking of the way he looked when he was waiting for this, and the way he feels, clinging to me, just as open to anything I want to do even though he can see and move again. I don't need a blindfold to get him to close his eyes or cuffs to keep him from touching me. All I need is for him to trust me, and he trusts me implicitly. I can feel it in the way he arches his hips against me and puts a leg around my waist, urging me deeper.

He says my name over and over, and nothing's ever sounded better than that. He's gasping for breath between kisses and shaking hard by the time I stroke him a few last times and he comes, groaning into my shoulder. I kiss him again before he has time to catch his breath, and that breaks down the rest of my self-control. Everything is on fire, everything is embracing me and kissing me and pulling me close, everything is perfect.

In the next breath, I'm holding Jeff, and we're both sticky and leaning against a wall. He's grinning at me. I take a deep breath and let him go so he can stand up again, and he hugs me. "That was fun."

"Wasn't it?" I'm not sure I can stand without leaning on something yet, but -- "I need a shower."

He laughs. "Yeah, me too."

I straighten up. My balance is apparently back. "Let's go, then?"

"Sure." He kisses me again.

And for the rest of the week, through the shower where he decides he wants to suck me off, and the evening when we watch some goofy movie and snuggle, and the night when we're tangled together, snuggling, and the days at work when I don't have anything to do but think about him, I know I'm the luckiest bastard in the world.

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