Sex in C Major

A mess that involved the piano stool. And lots of pressing individual notes.

And a human anatomy textbook.

"Is that anything to do with me?" Stefan asked as he helped Daz clear the emptied plates.

"I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"I don't tend to ask when he brings his projects home," Daz said with a shrug. "Why, did he say anything?"

"Um. Sort of."

"What?"

"I didn't understand it."

"Try me."

"It was about music and science and creating emotions from maths and...stuff."

Daz sniggered. "Oh. He dorkfaced."

"Um..."

"He'll explain himself at some point then."

"He said I might find out what he meant."

"Oh, it probably is something to do with you then. In which case, you're in the bath tonight. Get you properly scrubbed down for him. Help me clean the kitchen, then we'll get you washed."

Stefan grimaced. "I can wash myself."

"Good for you," Daz returned blandly, and Stefan submitted, grudgingly, to the inevitable. Maybe once he was trusted, he could have some bathroom privileges back.

So once the kitchen was done, he was taken upstairs and washed in the bath rather than the shower. The soak was pleasant, especially with the absence of his restraints, but the scrub down was oddly worse without the drum of water from the shower to distract him from the clinical, crude probing of Daz's fingers and the humiliating flushing. Then after the bath was drained and the final suds rinsed from Stefan's body with a blast of icy water from the shower-Daz rose to his feet and unzipped his jeans.

"I have a feeling I'll need the edge taking off before Yannis does whatever he has in store for you," he said.

Shivering and soaked, Stefan felt humiliated as his head was drawn over that hard dick. He was face-fucked, his head held in a punishing grip, and felt himself choking and coughing like it was the first time all over again. When Daz came, and Stefan spilled it all, the shower was turned back on and he was scrubbed roughly with a freezing flannel.

"Thought you'd improved. Obviously not. Get out."

Shaking, throat sore and lips swollen from the unexpected assault, Stefan crawled out over the rim and huddled on the mat until a rough towel was slung over his back and he was scrubbed dry. Daz's soft cock hung inches from his lips, and Stefan stared in mute anticipation. So Daz suspected Stefan would be used, too. Used in some way that would aggravate Daz, but not immediately require him.

But...how?

It was something to do with this music and emotion thing that Yannis had been talking about, Stefan was sure, but he hadn't understood it at all. So when he was taken back downstairs, naked and dried, he didn't know what to make of the wires scattered all over the living room floor, or the keyboard set up in front of the piano.

It looked...

Scary.

It looked scary. Terrifying, even. Was he going to be electrocuted? They wouldn't do that, would they?

"Sir..."

Daz, to Stefan's surprise, rubbed his shoulder and squeezed.

"I'm sure it's not as bad as it looks. Dorkface, remember?"

Yannis, fiddling with the back of the keyboard, said something that sounded uncomplimentary.

"Oh, shut it. Dork. Face."

Stefan ducked out of the way as Yannis tossed a screwdriver in Daz's direction. Daz retaliated by attacking him with it, and Stefan perched on the arm of the sofa to watch the wrestling match in mixed amusement and trepidation. Good moods were...good. But the array of wires was still making him nervous.

And then Yannis said, "Get a useable chair," and Stefan's stomach clenched.

"Useable for what?"

One of the dining chairs counted. Daz set it down opposite the keyboard.

"And the rug. There."

The rug was duly moved beside the chair. Then:

"Stefan. Rug."

"What's going on?"

"Rug!"

"But what's-”

Daz threw him a stern look, and Stefan nervously folded himself down onto the rug. His fingers were beginning to shake.

"It's not going to hurt," Yannis said absently.

"You-you sure?"

"Yes. I've already tested it."

"Tested what?"

"Anyway, you'll enjoy this next bit."

"Sir," Stefan pleaded, the nerves finally too much. "Please, what's going on? I-I don't like this."

Daz's hand was warm and heavy on Stefan's knee.

"This bit," he said, "is that Yannis needs to know where all your sweet spots are."

"My sweet spots?"

"Yes. Like this."

Stefan gasped when Daz leaned forward and bit at his neck. Sucked a bruise into being. In an instant, all the trepidation dissolved. A raw heat pooled in his belly and groin, like liquid fire.