Painted Blue - 8. Chapter 8

Morning work-out was a lot hastier than usual. Now—thanks to Felix—along with internal distraction, his view consisted entirely of the “dungeon”. The result was too much daydreaming and not enough lifting.

“Goddamnit,” Dorian grumbled at the ache pooling in his loins. He was going to need to move his home gym.

One cold shower later, he was carefully reviewing the short stack of papers from the night before.

All Felix had put down as a hard-limit was “no bathroom stuff”, which was a relief to Dorian. It was the rest that was concerning. The teen had noted interest in quite a few things that were well outside Dorian's comfort zone. Animal roles, whipping, face slapping, humiliation, servicing strangers, piercing. For the first time, he felt out of his depth. He also felt very, very vanilla.

His apprehension slid ever-more into the back of his mind as he reviewed the things they both voted highly on. Bondage, collars, giving Felix orders, enforced chastity, Felix performing oral, interrogation, denying Felix release, hair pulling, having others watch.

“Oh, the possibilities,” Dorian mused to himself.

“For what?” Felix half yawned the question as he shuffled up the hall to the kitchen.

“Just trying to decide what to do to you today.” He started humming a tune.

The teen leaned away from his search of the fridge, suddenly much more awake. “Can I eat first?”

“I'll allow it.” Dorian gestured magnanimously. “Do you not know what 'after-care' means? You left that section blank.”

Felix shrugged, pouring cereal into a bowl. “Not really necessary.”

The older man raised a brow. “You let me know when you change your mind and you can fill it out.”

The young man recapped the milk and skewed his lips with a dismissive hunch of his shoulders. “If I'm bleeding, stop the bleeding, if I'm unconscious, wake me up. Pretty straight forward.” He dropped into the chair opposite Dorian, shoving a spoonful of cereal in his mouth.

“Yea,” Dorian drew out the word, disturbed. “Unconscious and bleeding ain't gonna happen.”

“Spoil sport,” the teen lamented while chewing.

“It's not just physical care, it's emotional too.”

“I'm not a delicate butterfly.” He waved off Dorian's concerns and then stopped in thought. “Not safe-word 'butterfly', just normal butterfly. You know what I mean.”

“As I said, let me know when you change your mind.”

“Yes, sir,” Felix responded in a mocking tone.

Dorian watched him eat for a moment, deliberating before clearing his throat.

“I have to work tonight. It's no big deal, but if I don't come back, destroy these.” He tapped his forefinger on the stack of papers. “By fire, preferably. And then leave. People are eventually going to show up to divvy up my things. You don't need to be here when that happens. And my mom really doesn't need to know about my,” he paused. “Hobbies.”

Felix's pale eyes were leveled at him seriously. “Why wouldn't you come back?”

The older man shrugged. “The job is dangerous.”

“Why is tonight more dangerous?” The teen pressed.

Dorian sighed. “Just do it, OK?”

The young man shoved aside the empty bowl. “Your mom doesn't know you're gay?”

“Oh, she knows I'm gay. She doesn't know that I tie up teenagers on my off-time.”

“You haven't tied me up once,” Felix interjected.

“Patience, grasshopper.” He slid the small stack into his desk drawer.

The teen rolled his eyes, stood, and took his empty bowl into the kitchen. He was on his way back down the hall when Dorian strummed his fingers on the table.

“Where are you going?”

“Uh,” Felix stopped. “To read?”

“I said you could eat, not read.” Dorian hooked his finger in a beckoning motion.

Felix made a large, giddy side step toward the older man. “Ye—s?”

The larger man snatched a fistful of shirt and jerked the teen's face down level with his own. Dorian was pleased to see Felix's expression lose all trace of snark, eyes wide and focused. “You're going to go take a shower,” Dorian explained. “Get nice and squeaky clean. Then you're going to come back out here in nothing but a towel and earn your keep. And if you jerk off, I'll know. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Felix responded, almost falling over when the older man suddenly released him.

Dorian was in motion the moment the bathroom door closed. He laid out everything on the coffee table and had plenty of time to casually tend to the fish.

He counted the neon tetra with a frown. “Goddamnit, Gonzo.” Gonzo only watched him indifferently. He dumped half the scoop of food directly over the big blue gourami who didn't even have the decency to act inconvenienced.

The bathroom door opened. Dorian made himself wait a couple of heart beats before he turned, hands loosely behind his back. Felix was staring at the table—and dripping—hands awkwardly holding the towel around his waist.

Dorian worked his eyes down the length of Felix's body. Dark, damp hair clung to his head in an unkempt mass. Drops of water made slick paths down his trim chest and stomach, hitting the towel and disappearing. Goosebumps crawled up the boy's arms, nipples taut under the breeze of the ceiling fan. Embarrassment and anticipation had made a canvas of pink and red along his upper chest; his neck; his face.

“You're dripping on my floor,” Dorian remarked.

Felix tore his eyes away from the table and looked at himself. “Oh, uh, sorry.”

“Come here.” The older man's command brought him instantly across the room as if it were a physical tether. “Turn around. On your knees.” Dorian stood behind the boy and pressed down on his shoulders, pushing him to sit back on his heels.

Felix started shivering. From the chill or the scene or both. Dorian knelt behind him and brought the leather collar straight into the younger man's line of vision, lowering it to his neck.

“If I'm here, this is on you.” He buckled the collar slowly, Felix's pulse a visible beat along his neck, his breath audible. “You take it off to sleep and bathe.” Dorian smoothed a hand up through damp black hair, gripping it and pulling the teen's head back. “I don't want to see you without this. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.” Felix shuddered, voice strained by the angle of his throat. The effect made the leather collar stand out starkly against his pale flesh, steel ring flashing under the light. It was an image Dorian had only in his mind for far too long.

The older man pressed the side of his mouth to the boy's ear, breathing him in for a moment before continuing. “You aren't to set a foot outside without my permission. This house better be on goddamn fire if I catch you outside of it. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.” Felix bit his lip, his hands finding Dorian's thighs as he leaned back into the larger man.

“Good boy.”

An arm snaked around Felix's lean frame, skin cold and slick under Dorian's warm palm. His hand smoothed down the boy's chest, down his stomach, fingers slipping under the edge of the towel, pulling it loose just enough for the fabric to fall free from the sway of his erection. Index and middle finger slid down opposite sides of the rigid flesh, fingertips brushing his testicles, scrotum tightening at the desperate buck of Felix's hips.

“Do you know what I have over there?” Dorian murmured, his hand disentangling from the boy's hair to allow for Felix's furtive glance at the table.

“Y-yes,” the boy barely managed the word between breaths, the fingers gripping the base of his erection firmly stroking up and down. His own hands were gripping the tops of Dorian's thighs hard.

“Do you want it?” the older man teased.

Felix only nodded, lips firmly pressed around a moan.

Dorian decided that was sufficient, given the circumstance. He released Felix entirely.

“Show me how much.” He pressed a small bottle of lubricant into the boy's hand and shoved him forward by the shoulders.

Felix gasped in surprise and steadied himself with his hands on the couch in front of him. From this position, Dorian had a full view and Felix knew it.

Dorian simply leaned back against the base of the fish tank and watched. Felix's hands were trembling. He dropped the bottle before he managed to finally get it open. When he did, Dorian was fairly sure more of it ended up on his rug than on the teen's fingers. Felix's hand worked its way between his legs, slick fingers finding their mark hastily.

“Take your time,” the older man coaxed, his own voice sounding distant and breathy in his ears, eyes fixed on the motion of Felix's hand.

The teen made a sound in reply that could have been a whimper or a moan. He had a forearm braced against the couch, his forehead pressed against it, face hidden. He had worked a single digit inside himself. Dorian watched everything; the way his hips moved, the angle he liked, the tempo. By the time Felix boldly pressed a second finger to join the first, his thighs were shaking.

“You better not cum,” Dorian warned.

Felix completely stopped moving as if suddenly remembering what he had been told to do. “Please,” his voice was a muffled whine into the crook of his arm.

“Do you want it now?” The boy only nodded his head and that simply would not do this time. “What do you want?” Dorian teased. Felix muttered something. “What was that?” the older man pressed.

Felix abruptly pulled his hand free and raised his head, face a bright red. “The anal plug, dammit.”

Dorian tried his best not to laugh. It was an incredibly inappropriate moment to laugh. He ended up laughing anyway.

Felix's expression was replaced with dismay and he pressed his face back into the crook of his arm. “Now you've ruined it.”

“Oh?” Dorian grunted, laughter finally subsiding.

Felix jerked with a startled gasp as the small black plug was suddenly pressed against the sensitive ring of muscle.

“Last chance,” Dorian warned. Felix said nothing, but his hand snaked back between his legs to take hold of the sex toy.

The teen was working his hips in circles, pressure tentative when the older man squeezed more lubricant onto him. Felix moaned in response, his task suddenly much easier.

“You can never have too much lube, kid.”

A whimper of agreement rose from the slight boy, hand and hips grinding in shallow movements, the narrow point of the toy now inside him.

Dorian found himself tracing his fingers over the torrid length in his jeans, flush with aching need.

“Jerk off.” The command was shaky, his voice uneven, but Felix immediately complied anyway.

The younger man rested his head on the couch, one hand working the plug deeper, the other rolling his testicles. Dorian slowly unzipped his own jeans, reaching into his boxers and pulling his erection free of them. Jerking off while Felix touched himself hadn't been the original plan, but the ache in his belly liked the show and refused to wait.

Felix's breath had gone ragged and instead of focusing on the plug, he was sliding his hand down his erection with increasing speed.

“Don't you dare,” Dorian snarled.

The teen's hand slowed, but it took his hips longer to comply. “Please,” he mewled.

“Get it all the way in,” the older man ordered, uncompromising.

Felix complied, pressing until the toy suddenly slid into place. He jerked his hips in surprise at the sensation of the flanged base pressed tightly against the external side while the widest portion was nestled inside him.

“Took you long enough,” the blonde chastised. “That's the smallest one I have.”

“F-fuck,” the boy breathed, thighs shaking. “I'm not going to last long.”

“The hell you aren't.” Dorian pulled him back by the shoulders into the original kneeling position. Felix arched his back to avoid sitting on the toy still inside him. “What are you going to do about this?” the older man demanded, rolling his hips tightly against the boy, erection sliding against the bare skin of his back.

“Whatever you want, officer.” The teen turned his head slightly to flash Dorian a wanton smile, bottom lip pinned between his teeth.

“Maybe you should use your hands, since you seem to enjoy them so damn much.” Felix had begun to turn, but the larger man shoved him firmly by the shoulder to face forward.

“No.” He took both of Felix's arms, dragging them back between the two of them. He gripped the young man's hand and closed it around his length.

“You do it like this,” Dorian hissed into the boy's ear. “So I can at least pretend I'm fucking you.”

Felix fumbled to comply with the awkward behind-the-back hand job. The larger man growled with impatience and pushed him forward, his head again resting on the couch as Dorian thrust into his hands. He arched over the smaller body beneath him, hand working its way between them until his fingers found the end of the plug. Felix's hips jerked as Dorian pressed against the end of the toy, the rotating pressure nearly made his eyes cross.

A string of broken profanities suddenly spilled past Felix's lips, hips jerking wildly as he was seized by orgasm.

“Goddamnit,” Dorian was sure the teen didn't hear his complaint through his twitching, but he said it anyway.

Felix finally slumped forward against the couch, limbs a gangling mass of gelatin. He barely grunted when the older man slapped him sharply on the rear.

“I wasn't done.”

“Sorry,” the young man slurred in response. “Gimme a minute.” His eyes closed for a moment before his back went rigid and he choked on a yelp as Dorian gripped the end of the plug and firmly removed it.

“You jizzed on my rug, I have blue balls and now you're drooling on my couch.”

Felix clumsily turned around and immediately bent to take Dorian's length in his mouth. His tongue worked lazy, though not unpleasant, circles around the swollen glans.

“You think that is going to be enough?” the older man taunted, completely failing at indifference.

The teen grunted around the flesh in his mouth and forced his lips all the way down to the base, his throat a hot, tight constriction.

“That might be,” Dorian admitted, voice suddenly higher, hips swaying involuntarily.

His fingers tangled in Felix's drying loose curls, forcing himself deeply into the wet well of the teen's mouth. Every thrust made the steel ring of the collar tap against his scrotum. Each time was a reminder of his claim. Each time brought him closer to the edge until a low groan rose from his chest, pelvic muscles spasming as he emptied into Felix's mouth.

Dorian steadied himself with a hand on the coffee table before he managed to fall over from his kneeling position.

“Ah-ah, OK.” The sensation of Felix's swallowing was suddenly too much. He tapped the younger man's shoulder rapidly and pulled away.

They both sat in breathless silence for a moment. Felix had rolled onto his back on the floor, staring at the ceiling. Dorian had slumped down to sit on his hip.

“Well.” Felix gave him a smile that was far too wholesome for what they had just done. “That was fun.”

Dorian worked himself back into his pants with a huff. “I noticed. Clean up your mess before it stains, you leaky bastard.”

“Don't wanna move,” Felix complained.

“I'm going to start giving you after-care cuddles.”

The younger man launched into a sitting position. “I'm up.” He looked around briefly. “Where are my pants?”

“You didn't have any,” Dorian reminded.

“Oh. Right.” Felix fumbled awkwardly with the towel.

The moment Dorian tried to stand, his hip locked up, leading to an ungainly hopping limp.

He glared at Felix's concerned look. “Shut up, I'm old.”

The nice thing about being the Dom was not having to do the clean-up. However, watching Felix do it nearly lead to round two.

The dark haired boy had gotten back into his casual clothes, which only served to make the collar around his neck seem more obscene. He was on his hands and knees, the steel ring swaying as he scrubbed at the orange rug. Dorian's attempts at reviewing his notes on the Hawthorne case were long forgotten.

Felix finally threw himself on the couch, task complete. “Want me to cook before you go?” He looked over at Dorian seated at the island bar, his expression one of contented comfort.

The expression pulled at the older man unexpectedly, a warm fullness settling in his chest. “If you want,” he responded, voice unintentionally distant.

Felix shoved himself up from the couch and merrily trotted into the kitchen. “What'cha feel like?”

Dorian grunted vaguely, clicking his pen as his attention went back to his notepad. “Whatever is fine.”

Undercover and plainclothes operations go bad all the time. Of course, most of the time they don't, but the potential was always there, and it was at a huge cost. Botching this op could ruin his career. It could ruin their chances of ever shutting down the people who put drugs in Hawthorne's hands, and ultimately into the mouths of kids. It could get them killed.

Dorian had never been a big fan of the risk. He didn't like the stakes of the game and he didn't like being the only one playing with rules. But there was an undeniable high that came with playing well, putting on a persona like armor, being one step ahead, and putting away the bad guy in the end.

Hawthorne would get a slap on the wrist. At most he'd do a couple years and he'd be right back in his mansion, drugging thirteen-year-old boys to oblivion. Jason Mink was only a stepping stone. There was a face behind the peddlers of drugs and children, and Dorian desperately wanted to punch it. But you don't get the shot without being in the room, and you don't get in the room without a lot of risky ops.

Full belly tied in knots, Dorian considered himself in the mirror. Close shave. Hair slicked back and gelled. Fitted metallic blazer with the sleeves pushed up. Red silk shirt. Charcoal pants starched to a shine. He held eye contact with himself until he was satisfied with who looked back, then left his room, flicking the light off.

Felix looked up from his sprawl on the couch, book in hand. He stared. “You,” he began, then frowned. “Don't look like you.”

“That's the goal,” Dorian replied plainly, slipping into his shoes.

“You're going to work like that?” The teen looked him up and down suspiciously.

Dorian ignored the question. “If I'm not back before morning—”

“Burn the house down and leave the kinky contract,” Felix cut in with a smile. The older man gave him a serious look. “I know, I know. Don't worry.”

Dorian went through the process of checking his pockets for anything identifiable.

“Hey . . .” Felix's voice was tentative as he approached the detective.

“Hm?” Dorian turned, straightening his lapel.

“Be careful.”

He looked at the young man for a moment, mental process interrupted. He gave the boy a slight smile and stepped toward him, fingers finding his jaw and tipping his head back. The kiss was tender and brief.

“Don't wait up.”