Jason Behr/James Marsters
One Warning ~ D/s
They were never seen together. Never photographed at premieres or parties with blood-shot eyes, arms around each other’s shoulders. Drunken smiles, cigarettes perched behind their ears or from lips. They only met once or twice a month, depending on work and concerts and schedules arranged by personal assistants and managers. Quick phone calls or emails to private accounts. Terse, one-word responses, staccato phrases that belied nothing of the passion, nothing of the fingernails tearing into fists to keep from touching … because that wasn’t allowed.
It started when they were both much younger, a chance meeting. A guest star around for only a few days, the other working to stay, to become, to belong. It had wound up here, in Jason’s condo or James’ apartment or any number of tiny, no-name motel rooms.
It wound up here, with James naked on his knees, arms behind him. His bare, pale back already ribboned red from a flogger. His mouth and throat full of Jason’s cock. Now that his hair had grown, it wasn’t as bad. James shivered from the memory of the beatings he’d taken after shaving his head.
Jason preferred to have something to tangle his fingers in and pull.
Hope that worked even though Word says that *ribboned* is not a word. I like it. I like the way it sounds and I like the picture it makes in my head.