Jon nudged open the bedroom door and found Boeshane, lounging on the bed in just his shorts, relaxed and comfy, reading.
'Hey babe,' he said, as Jon entered the room.
Jon sat on the bed, leaned in to kiss him - a kiss that deepened fast, grew prolonged and intimate.
A hand reached for Jon's collar-button, but he captured it gently by the wrist.
'Uh-uh, Blue Eyes. Guess what?'
A look sprang into his lover's face - fear, anticipation. Jon grinned his happiest, most dangerous grin.
'I'm wearing Paralysing Lipgloss.'
* * *
'That is definitely the kinkiest thing you have ever suggested,' Boeshane had said.
'Sounds good, though, doesn't it?' Jon had that "you know you can't resist me" grin
'Sounds terrifying.' Boeshane thought about it. 'I'd like to. But - I don't want you to tell me when you're planning to do it.'
'I want it to be a surprise.' He looks confident, certain of his capacity to handle this new departure towards the edge.
* * *
Jon grinned, gave his lover's hand a squeeze. Some of the colour had drained from Boeshane's face, he looked like he was going to have second thoughts. But it's too late for those.
Jon carefully pressed the hand to his lips.
'I'm right here, babe. Antidote - ' he produced a vial from his pocket and placed it carefully on the dressing table. 'Other one's in your sock drawer, put it there this morning, in case I break this one. Safe-call to Taria, set to send automatically one hour from now, in case I drop dead - set that up before I came in.'
The hand twitched heavily from his grasp, and Boeshane fell back on the pillow, breathing rapid. His lips tried to form words.
'I - I - '
'L'v you,' he muttered, and there was going to be more but he couldn't get the words out - his face was growing blank. His eyes were huge - possibly fear, possibly a side-effect of the drug.
Jon looked down at him. This was the headiest, riskiest, most frightening thing they'd ever done in three years of edgy, risky, self-destructive sex. Now the rawness of their latest kink had his solar plexus singing within him, sore and excited at once.
'OK.' He pulled out a sterilising wipe, rubbed his lips. He was dosed on the antidote, but it would be dangerous to keep kissing his lover and reintroducing more of the drug into his system.
'Now, let's make the most of this.'
Jon reached down and laid a hand, careful and inquisitive, on his lover's groin.
'Well, well. Enjoying yourself already, are you?' Boeshane was half-hard, and a little expert groping got him fully erect, his cock responding quickly to Jon's knowlegable fingers. The pink tip poked up through the fly of his shorts, but Jon studiously ignored it.
'Well, that's good to know,' he muttered. The lack of response was creepily pleasing.
Jon rolled over against him, laid his body along the top of his lover's, still dressed, his own cock swelling and aching, trapped beneath his clothes. Grinding off against a warm, nearly naked body was good, and normally when they did this Boeshane wriggled and fought him off, liking to be on top.
This time he had leisure to enjoy himself, rubbing hard against a thigh, then changing position to press his throbbing tip up against his lover's cock, allowing his mouth to stray over Boeshane's lips and face, licking along the line of his jaw, nibbling gently on the tip of his ear.
Then, suddenly, change of plan. He rolled off, saying half under his breath, 'I know what we need.'
Boeshane's eyes flicked to follow him as he dug in a drawer.
'Hah! Got it!'
Warming massage oil. Boeshane closed his eyes briefly. He would have grinned, if he could have. For him, the passivity felt - astonishing. Being completely unable to move, entirely at his lover's mercy - just the realisation that it was happening had made him start to get hard, and Jon's excitement at having him in the position was spilling over to turn him on intensely.
Instead of trying to take his lover's shorts down - not easy when said lover is a dead-weight flat in his back - Jon simply ripped them off, leaving Boeshane suddenly naked. Grinning evilly, Jon unscrewed the top of the oil bottle.
'Now - just for once - you're not going to make a fuss if this goes on - '
He tipped the bottle suddenly, and Boeshane tried very hard to wince and gasp, and could do nothing but lie there.
' - cold.'
For the first time, Boeshane felt real fear at his inablity to react to the cold, piercing sensation.
Then Jon ran a warm hand over the splash of oil on his abdomen, and it relaxed him instantly. He's craving contact, and - oooh, a second hand, working the oil in neat circles, palms very slick. It warmed fast on his skin, tingling and pleasant, and his cock firmed slightly more with the contact.
Jon stopped rubbing long enought to leap up and strip his own clothes off, then slide back onto the bed and lay his body over Boeshane's once more, his cock a firm, thick presence against Boeshane's stomach. This time, the grinding is slippy, fluid, delicious - their cocks trapped between them, pressed and squashed and smoothed with oil, their legs and chests growing slick, the sweet scent of cinnamon oil rising, as Jon slithered warmly against him.
'Oh - ' Jon bites back a groan. 'Oh fuck.' Half sitting up, he pulled away a little. 'If I keep doing that, I'm going to come - and - ' he grinned, his lips curving into a delicious pout - 'I've got other plans.'
Other plans, it turns out, involve clever use of pillows to angle his lover up a bit, and the application of more oil, this time poured from hand to hand til it was body-warm, and then smudged over Boeshane's cock, balls, and down into the groove of his arse.
Jon took his time, paying careful attention to his perineum - a little pressure there is normally enough to make him sigh and whimper - massaging firmly with his thumb. It's so weird, getting no response, but glancing up he can see Boeshane's eyes fixed on him, his pupils big.
'Enjoying this, are you?' he asked, circling his thumb gently, and feels an answering twitch that seems to begin in the root of his lover's cock. Almost like the start of an orgasm. He takes his hand away.
'Not yet, you don't. I'm not gonna let you come til I'm deep inside you, fucking your unresisting body, good and hard...'
The words came without him planning, spilled over in his arousal.
Boeshane's cock is aching for release, so hard he can feel his pulse echo through the tip, feel himself close and completely unable to do anything about it. And - either because Jon's being a careful top, or because he likes to tease like a bastard - he's being very, very slow about getting to the next stage.
Jon slipped one well-oiled finger gently inside, feeling for tension and resistance. Relaxing those muscles is voluntary, he knows well enough - so maybe it won't work if Boeshane can't move. He has a backup plan for this, but actually the oil makes things easy - there's resistance, but not so much he would need to be rough - just enough that it's going to require time and teasing and extra lube to get past it.
'I should've made you put a plug in,' he muttered, finger sliding smoothly in and out. 'I want you nice and open for me - '
By this point, normally, Boeshane would be moaning, shamelessly demanding more, faster, deeper. He's so aroused it's almost painful, and Jon's careful, questing finger, while it initially took the edge off by bordering on pain, has eased the tension away and is just adding another tune to the symphony of arousal.
He longs to thrust up with his hips, move against those questing fingers, get some more friction going -
'I think you're ready for me,' Jon said, and his voice was a little hoarse. They had arrived at the deep scary point of his fantasies, the one he'd only half-admitted, the one that had fuelled this suggestion in the first place. To push his cock into an unresisting, passive body - to take his pleasure simply and without reaction - Jon craved it without knowing exactly why.
He reached again for the oil bottle, and slicked his cock, which thickens and reddens from contact. Taking a moment to rub the oil up and down his length, to enjoy the sensation of his own hand gripping him while he looked down at his lover's lax body, he bit his lip.
'Hope you're ready for this, sweetheart,' he said, mouth dry.
For Boeshane, it was like fireworks when Jon pressed his tip against him, then slid firmly in. The sudden tang of pain as he was stretched and parted was all that kept him from coming immediately. Jon had warmed him up well, but he was still unable to fully, consciously, relax his muscles. But the pain didn't matter, all that he needed was to feel Jon inside him, deep and thick, fucking him any way he liked -
Jon, biting his lip not to gasp, slipped inside as deep as he could, supporting his weight on his hands. Staring down into his lover's face, he saw the eye pupils broaden, the curiously blank face pink and flushed. He gave a short jolt with his hips, felt a little, involuntary gasp escape his lover. Another stroke, slower - and yes, there, he felt the swelled bump of his lover's G-spot against the upper side of his cock.
Leaning on one hand, he reached down with the other and gripped his lover's cock - throbbing and hot - and curled his fingers round it, began to tug in time to his gentle thrusts.
Boeshane, completely passive, can only relax into the intensity of this touch - his whole being focussed on the slick, smooth strokes on his cock, the deep, aching feel of Jon working in and out of him.
Jon, able to move exactly how he wants, able angle himself perfectly to heighten his own sensations, is breathless with effort and excitement, grinding into his lover's still body in long, deep strokes that are beginning to speed up, his fantasy so achingly good he cannot prolong it.
'Fuck - fuck, love - I'm so close - '
His hand squeezed tight on his lover's cock, and began working it as fast as he could. Boeshane's body, out of his control, reaches the point of no return, and he feels the orgasm break over him - feels rhythmic pressure on his G-spot force to a peak of pleasure - feels the spasmodic clench of his mucles wrapping and releasing round Jon's cock - sees Jon's own orgasm catch him, and feels the fast, brutal thrusts as he peaks, his cock pounding into his lover with total abandon.
Jon kept moving until his orgasm was completed, the last drops spent, and then drew out.
He fell, panting, against Boeshane's chest, his ear close to his lover's heart. He could feel the fast pulse, thready and feverish, just beginning to slow down.
He lay for the space of a minute, savouring the afterglow. Then, lifting his head, he checked the time on his wrist-strap.
'Thiry-one minutes. Time to come back now, babe.'
The antidote - drops that are applied under the tongue - take effect in a couple of minutes. Boeshane's breathing deepened first,
then his face regained mobility, and lapsed into a sated grin.
'Woah - ' His mouth was dry. He licked his lips, tried again.
'Oh, baby, that was. Fuck.' Jon kissed him, a swift little press on the forehead. 'Was it good for you?'
'You were really getting off on the control thing, weren't you?' Boeshane asked, shrewdly.
'Yeah, kind of. Having you just lying there, all mine to play with was - well, hot.'
'So, tell me,' Boeshane said, 'You fancy playing turnabout some time?'
Jon bit his lip.
'Good.' Boeshane is already planning payback for the cold massage oil. Possibly ice, he thinks....