Sex in C Major

But...

Daz had never just...

They'd never done it normally. They'd never had normal sex.

"Kiss me like like we don't do any of this. Like we're just dating. Normal."

Daz slid down off the footboard and crawled across the sheets. There was still something predatory about him-something dangerous. Stefan shrank back a little, yelping when a hand caught his knee and pulled him down onto the mattress. And then it softened. Smoothed up the side of the dressing gown.

And Daz's mouth was warm and soft on Stefan's. His weight was heavy, but gentle. There was a press, but no grip. Daz pushed past Stefan's lips and opened him up, the same as ever, but it was a gentle insistence and a slow exploration, rather than a probe. Rather than a demand. And Stefan-

It wasn't right.

It simply...happened. He didn't hate it. He didn't want to pull away from it. But...

But it wasn't right.

It was too soft. It was too gentle. He felt nothing from it no warmth, no excitement, no thrill. It was no more wonderful than...than having a handshake. Daz was spread out over him, warm and heavy, and Stefan felt nothing.

Daz's watch beeped, and he pulled back, and retreated to sit on the footboard again. Stefan lay in the sheets, stunned at the...nothingness.

"Next question."

Stefan pulled himself together. Physically. He drew all his limbs in and sat up against the headboard again, covering himself as much as possible with the dressing gown. His mind was racing. What-what had just happened? What did that mean?

"Why-why do you enjoy it?" he whispered.

"Enjoy what?"

"Having slaves."

Daz shrugged. "I wouldn't say I'm especially fixed on it like you seem to be, but if someone wants to play that kind of a dynamic, I do like it. I like taking control. I get off on it sexually. I've always enjoyed extreme porn, and I think bondage looks hot. That's all it is, really. I find it sexually satisfying. If my slave wants to extend that control outside of just screwing, then I'm happy to do that, too."

"That's it? You just...like it? And you're okay with that?"

"That's another question."

Stefan opened his mouth-then closed it. "True." Of course it was true. He knew Daz enjoyed it. And it made sense if it was just sex to him. That was why Yannis trusted this arrangement so much. And why Daz was so loving with him, and so brutal with Stefan. Because he had sex with Stefan, and not with Yannis.

"So?"

Stefan fidgeted. He had to try something else. He had to find something normal. Not-not being fucked by strangers because his master said so.

He stuck his feet straight out, and asked for a foot massage.

Daz looked faintly amused, but took one foot in both hands and dragged it up into his lap. The result was that Stefan ended up halfway down the bed, dressing gown around his waist, but the pyjama bottoms stayed stuck in place. Stefan fisted his hands into the robe as thumbs dug into his foot, and tried to relax.

Tried.

Because

Oh God, it was the same problem. It was nice, but...but Christ, it could be a chiropody appointment. It could be a doctor performing an examination. It didn't—it wasn't-

It wasn't sexy. It wasn't romantic. It wasn't anything. It was just a hand digging into his foot and working at the skin, and Stefan didn't know what to do. The pleasure was barely there. His foot enjoyed it, but...foot massages were supposed to be a prelude to things. Sometimes, anyway. He'd read magazines. He'd been on dating websites long enough. Massages-feet and elsewhere were supposed to lead somewhere, but he felt nothing.

No, not quite true.

As the situation dawned on him, he felt like crying.

The minute was over after an eternity, and when Stefan drew his foot back, he felt a shard of pain in his lungs. He felt dizzy. And the next question "You were just okay with that?"-spilled out without his permission.

"Yes."

Something flickered.

Something in Daz's expression twitched, and Stefan blinked.

"False."

Daz nodded.

"What-?"

"That's another question."

Stefan shuddered. He felt lonely. Lost. Adrift. But he couldn't just he had to stop this. Had to stop being this, or-or he'd end up-

"What do you want?"

Daz's voice was soft.

And Stefan suddenly, irrationally, hated it. He wanted Daz to shout. Wanted him to be aggressive and threatening and dominant. Wanted him to make it hurt.

Wanted him to make this lost, lonely feeling go away.

Sick.

"Chain me up."

Daz shifted off the end of the bed and rummaged in one of the wardrobes. Something clinked. He came back with a cardboard box, dropping it on the nightstand and reaching for Stefan's wrist. Stefan wanting it to hurt, wanting to be made to do it-pulled away.