I like to be in control.
Okay, so Lance could admit it, if only to himself. He did like to be in control.He liked to be the one to say how much, how far, how often, he liked to be the one in charge.
It was, possibly, a character flaw.
It had come as a surprise to him to find there was an exception to that rule. Sort of. That first time, it had been the easiest approach he could take, to offer the bet in a half-joking way, and see whether AJ took him up on it. And AJ, with touching but misplaced faith in his own ability to play cards, had accepted it. And paid up. Oh yeah. He'd paid up, and the nights they'd spent together with AJ as Lance's sex slave had been the hottest, absolutely the hottest he'd ever had. But... Lance was beginning to think it wasn't, quite, the way he wanted things to go between the two of them.
The trouble was the poker ritual. It was a habit now, near enough. They'd play, they'd set the stakes as usual, and AJ would lose. And Lance could tell that AJ was getting frustrated, probably because he always lost, and always got to be the slave, and Lance was pretty much certain now that unless AJ won, unless AJ got his turn to be the master, they would never get the chance to change things. If Lance could only lose, maybe they'd have a chance.
The trouble was, AJ had atrocious luck at cards.
No, the trouble was, AJ just wasn't a very good poker player. AJ had a dashing, reckless style that too often involved insane bets on ridiculous bluffs or quite ordinary hands, which sometimes—just often enough to keep AJ believing—paid off big time, but mostly resulted in his losing his shirt.
See, the trouble was, AJ looked like the kind of ultra-cool dude whose face would reveal nothing, but in fact, AJ's features—unbeknown to AJ—were so expressive that there were times when his hand might just as well have been laid face up on the table. Whereas Lance's poker face was exactly like his everyday face—deceptively candid, and giving nothing away that he did not care to reveal. A full house, two pair, a handful of nothing, all looked the same when reflected in Lance's easy smile.
Another part of the trouble was, winning was so rewarding. Having AJ pliant and more-or-less submissive in his bed, having license to do as he would with that fabulous lithe body... the prize was too tempting. And Lance really did enjoy being in control. He enjoyed telling AJ what to do, and he enjoyed being able to push AJ into ecstasy. The visuals, the sound effects, the whole deal, it was all too good to resist. Plus, the trouble was, Lance had a competitive streak that just wouldn't quit. Losing at cards, when he could win...
But tonight, Lance was determined. He was going to lose, whatever it took. He cast a slow, deliberate smile at AJ, letting his gaze sweep lazily over AJ's lean, tattooed body in a possessive, provocative way, and dealt the first hand.
* * *
Lance only wished he knew how to finesse the cards. But winning brought no satisfaction if you cheated, so he'd never bothered to learn. How convenient it would have been tonight, though, to be able to deal AJ a run of aces... As things stood, AJ was certainly bluffing. He had a trick of blinking too regularly when he was lying, it gave him away every time. However... Lance folded his meagre pair without comment, and his opponent gathered in the chips with a smirk.
"Tonight's the night, Bass. The cards are on my side tonight."
"You gotta play 'em first."
"Yeah, big words for a man who just lost to a pair of threes."
"You don't scare me, McLean. I'm going to have you exactly where and how I want you. Now shut up and deal." Lance noted the flare of determination and lust in AJ's eyes, and carefully didn't smile.
* * *
Two hours later, despite the promptings of Lance's not-always-repressible competitive streak, the chips were still approximately half-and-half between them, and AJ was extremely twitchy. Okay, they were both of them shifting in their seats. They'd had five nights together already: of course they were both thinking ahead to the real entertainment. But AJ's twitchiness wasn't just because he was thinking about sex. AJ was just too impatient to be a killer poker player. He wanted the drama too much, the high stakes, the big win.
He'd got something. Lance knew it. The trouble was, Lance had just drawn the ten of hearts, and that meant he'd filled a straight, queen high, and he doubted very much that AJ had a bigger hand than that. But AJ shoved an untidy heap of chips into the middle of the table, and Lance was so damned horny he just wanted this to be over right now so he lifted his chin and pushed all his stacks into the centre, raised a challenging eyebrow, and waited for AJ to match the bet. AJ did, and threw down his hand. Three aces.
"Fuck!" said Lance, staring at his own cards as though they had betrayed him. Which they had, in a manner of speaking.
AJ laughed triumphantly, sweeping the chips towards himself. "Your ass is mine, Bass!"
Lance's face displayed chagrin, and a measure of reluctance. Slowly, he gathered the pack and shuffled the cards together, as if giving himself time to think. Did think, or tried to, about sex-neutral matters like the Dow Jones Index and Justin's sneaker collection, but with AJ in that sleeveless black T-shirt and those lickable tattoos, which possibly Lance was not going to have the opportunity actually to lick tonight but no doubt there would be compensations... the pretending-not-to-be-turned-on thing was so not going to fly.
AJ stood behind Lance, and invited him to stand. An instant later, he was bent over the table, with AJ's hard-on pressing against his ass and AJ's voice in his ear. "Think I'll have you right here. Right now. Slave." A sound escaped from Lance's throat, it was meant to be a moan but emerged as a needier, more eager noise than he had intended. AJ took it as consent—which it was—and reached round to undo Lance's khakis. They fell to his ankles, and AJ's hand began to explore the curves of Lance's snug boxers. Both hands, while Lance was sprawled obediently across the table, very happy indeed to be stroked and admired, and to have someone start very slowly to inch his boxers down.
AJ's fingers, delicate as moth wings, skimmed over the skin of Lance's lower back, and suddenly Lance reared like a cobra, hissing as those fingertips feathered over hypersensitive skin just above his buttocks. AJ made a self-satisfied noise and traced some more, and Lance shivered. He felt AJ's breath, warm and gentle, then the slick hot slither of his tongue, and Lance squirmed frantically, hardly aware of the fabric slipping down his legs, until he felt fingers sliding down the cleft of his ass. He wimpered helplessly as that tongue kept up its wicked work on his back, licking him, spreading the electric tingling across his tender flesh, then AJ bit and Lance yelped and bucked and thrust his hips urgently backwards.
"Patience, patience," AJ told him. Lance began to protest, and found a thumb nudging at his lips. He drew it in eagerly, laved it with his tongue, suckled wantonly, and grunted with annoyance when it was withdrawn. But when, a moment later, it nudged between his legs, and pressed for entry, he sighed happily and did his best to spread himself, hampered by the pants around his ankles.
AJ slid that thumb right inside, and kept playing his fingers and mouth over Lance's buttocks, sliding and scratching, kissing, licking and nipping. Writhing under the onslaught, sensitized almost to the point of pain, Lance moaned and gasped, and demanded to be fucked properly.
"Now, see, you're forgetting the slave thing," AJ reprimanded. "You don't get to decide when I fuck you. Maybe I'm not going to. Maybe I'll decide to turn you round and get you on your knees to suck me." His thumb withdrew, and Lance wimpered. "Maybe I'll jerk off, come all over you instead. Right here." His fingers trailed like prickles of fire over Lance's back, then withdrew, it wasn't fair, it wasn't right—Lance tilted his ass up, inviting. His cock, out of reach beneath the table, strained uselessly for friction.
"Then again, when you ask so nicely..." AJ's thumbs parted him, and AJ's cock, slick and cool with lube, pushed deep inside. Lance's knees trembled. Slow, slow withdrawal, to that last inch, then in again, cleaving him, short, quick thrusts across his prostate, and he was breathless. He tried to spread himself wider, but he was still hobbled, and AJ's sure hands pressed him firmly against the table.
Damn, but AJ was good at this. Lance knew that already, of course, but this time AJ wasn't doing as he was told, he had the initiative, he was taking charge. Things were definitely going the way they needed to, Lance thought, and maybe being in control wasn't all it was cracked up to be anyway, because he had no complaints at all, oh no. He wriggled his hips against AJ's hands, pushing helpfully backwards to match the rhythm AJ was setting.
Then as AJ's cock plunged deep, AJ's fingernails scratched across the sensitive plane of Lance's lower back, and he was overwhelmed. He arched, shuddered, and climaxed. Groaning behind him, AJ pumped furiously, cried out, and was still, his breath loud as he slumped onto Lance.
Eventually, reluctantly, AJ withdrew.
Lance pushed himself upright, leaning on the table in case his knees should wobble. He leaned over, carefully, to haul his pants and underwear back up.
"Don't." AJ had disposed of the condom, and was staring at Lance from across the room. "Take them off. And the T-shirt."
Lance thought about arguing that, but hell, fair was fair, he was the slave here, and AJ had been a very obedient slave for him. Besides, it wasn't like they weren't both going to get naked anyway. Obediently he toed off his shoes and stepped out of the clothes round his ankles. The T-shirt joined the pile, and he sent AJ a gleam of defiance through his eyelashes.
AJ grinned suddenly. "Upstairs then, o slave."
Lance led the familiar way to AJ's bedroom, permitting himself a gratified smirk as AJ followed him appreciatively up the stairs. Yes. Being AJ's sex slave was a good gig.
And maybe next time, they could do this without the card games.
Or maybe, the time after that.