Chapter 7
Working Hard or Hardly Working
By the time Max showed, Rune was sprawled out at the long, elegant black dining table in the main room, surrounded by the remains of his breakfast, a fresh mug of coffee, a notepad and his phone. With his feet up on the table, he typed away, sipping idly and keeping an eye on the pair of Doms in the sitting area as often as he could.
The list of questions from Oliver was so extensive, Rune wouldn’t have believed it possible even if Oliver had stayed up all night writing it, if not for the tip about him being a writer by trade. Or at least, used to be.
He knew it was going to take him all day. Maybe that was the point.
So Rune was glad for the distraction when Max sent a text to let Rune know he was at the door.
Barefoot, dressed in old jeans that fit him like a second skin, tight black V-neck shirt and finger-combed hair, Rune felt underdressed for his company and surroundings. Once Max walked in outfitted in full biker regalia—leather jacket, boots, the whole deal—Rune felt instantly more at ease. They were two pegs that didn’t fit, but it became clear, fast, that seeing where Rune was helped set Max at ease.
The conversation was simple, short, and consisted mainly of Max checking out Oliver, the place, Elet, and Rune’s general vibe. He handed over another duffel full of more of Rune’s things, as requested via text message earlier in the morning.
Rune opted out of trying to translate the verbal back and forth going on, even though Elet attempted to interpret for him, waving them off and going back to his seat to type some more.
Oliver showed Max out with a handshake, which was as good a sign as any.
Grabbing an apple, Rune tossed it in the air, caught it, and brought it and his new bag full of stuff back to his room.
He closed the door behind him, dropped the bag on the bed and parted the zipper.
He was just removing his handgun and checking the chamber when he felt the air shift behind him as Oliver walked in.
With a sigh, he didn’t fight it when Oliver stalked over and took the gun out of his hands, wearing a royally pissed off expression and shouting something Rune didn’t bother to catch. He sat heavily on the edge of the bed, elbows planted on his knees, one eyebrow raised as Elet came to join the fun.
Diving right in, Rune signed: It’s for protection. I won’t wear it in here if you don’t want me to.
When asked if he usually wore it, he nodded enthusiastically.
When asked why, he explained as simply as he could that he’d either been a target or had product worth stealing for years. He didn’t sell anymore, but after the accident, he wasn’t taking chances.
They asked what he meant by that.
Rune hesitated to explain.
Oliver asked who was targeting him. Or, demanded, rather.
Rune explained: I don’t know. Got a partial license plate and a good look at the white power and Nazi stickers on the back of the truck.
Oliver and Elet exchanged looks. Rune bore it, though wished he didn’t have to explain this part before he finished some of the more basic questions Oliver had first.
You think the accident wasn’t an accident? Elet signed.
Rune shook his head.
Why?
I was meeting a guy at a pull-off in the middle of nowhere. A date. Local guy I met on Grindr. He never showed, but I saw the truck parked nearby. I left to go home. I never got there.
Everything got still. It drew out. Then Oliver started to talk to Elet and he wasn’t translating anymore. Rune moved to grab the bag, slung it over a shoulder and signed: I’ll go. It’s not your problem. I’m sorry.
Oliver stopped him with a hand to his chest, took the bag from him and pushed him back down onto the bed before setting the bag aside, by the wall.
Have you told anyone else? Your crew? Elet asked.
Rune shook his head.
Why?
I’m not out to them, he explained.
Oliver covered his eyes with a hand, like he was getting a headache.
You think they targeted you through Grindr for being gay? Elet asked.
Who knows? I’m also Jewish, Rune replied, then pointed to the star of David that was on the back of his left arm.
They all stared at each other for a minute.
I’m keeping the gun, Oliver said via Elet’s translation. For now.
I have a license to carry, Rune added.
Good, Oliver replied.
Rune had never done so much typing in his life. For three weeks, they lived in a weird limbo. It turned out Oliver had an IQ high enough that he skipped three grades and graduated at the top of his class at university. He also had a knack with languages. He spoke four of them—Mandarin, French and was passable in Russian. Most of that was due to his parents, just like with the ASL. Oliver said that’d had a passion for making him as multilingual as they could, starting when he was a toddler, by hiring nannies who didn’t speak English or paying for special lessons.
He did nothing from dawn to the middle of the night but learn sign language, either via Elet in person, Elet on Skype, colleagues of David’s who were also fluent in sign language on Skype, or via internet tutorials. He was also in the process of hiring a tutor for them both, to meet with them individually to work on expanding their vocabulary and fluency. The man was a sponge. He quickly knew more than Rune, and so included him on the lessons. Rune got the sense from Oliver’s behavior and the email conversations they had that it was a compulsion with him. When he found a goal, he threw himself into it until it was conquered, possibly to the detriment of other facets of his life. For instance, though Oliver had mentioned his submissive, Jackson, Rune had yet to meet the guy and could only imagine he was feeling neglected.
Since Rune’s personality was more of the slow burn sort, he couldn’t relate to Oliver’s fervor for knowledge, especially if it was just in the interest of getting laid. They could fuck without conversing, but Oliver was having none of it.
When Rune wasn’t in lessons, he was typing out messages to Oliver, which were mostly clarifications of questions from questions about questions. It felt a little like an interrogation, so soon Rune was slacking off, going for walks and playing online games when Oliver thought he was actually working.
Already, Oliver knew a ton of things about Rune—everything from details about Denis, to Rune’s consistent status as a troublemaker in grade school, to his intention to cover as much of his body with ink as he could so at least his scars were completely obscured. He knew Rune’s parents split up when he was five, that he hadn’t graduated high school and started living with friends at sixteen after his mom’s drunk boyfriend smashed a bottle over his head and caused a laceration that took twenty-three stitches in his scalp to close. He knew Rune had been a straight-A student before things had taken a nose-dive thanks to circumstances like mom’s shitty boyfriend, and that Rune had always gotten in lots of trouble for sticking up for the underdog in school and in his neighborhood.
He knew Rune had been a chatty smart-ass when he was the hearing, talking sort, and now preferred to hang back and observe rather than make the effort to engage people. That was a habit he knew Oliver was trying to save him from, claiming it was a sign of depression, encouraging Rune to find things that energized him again.
Rune knew a lot about Oliver, too. He’d seen photos of Jackson, who was pretty hot and unlike anyone Rune had been with before. Jackson was bi, much older, serious, and worked so hard trying to save people that he kept stressing himself out, which was where Oliver stepped in, releasing pressure so Jackson didn’t explode.
He knew Oliver’s BFF was a guy named Adam Buchanan that Oliver was weirdly devoted to in a soul mate type of way. Adam was an intense, ginger, blue-eyed artist who’d been born to be a lawyer until fate intervened and plunged him into the tortured painter role instead, driving him to distant countries in search of escape from his problems and inspiration for his muse. Rune was curious to meet the guy and see just how intense Adam really was. Oliver implied that he, personally, was one of the rare people who could deal with the dude on a consistent basis without feeling claustrophobic and attacked. Instead of putting Rune off, it amused him and made him more curious. Especially since Oliver also confessed he and Adam often shared submissives, including Jackson. Before, having sex with one guy had been crazy enough for Rune. Being in a threesome, foursome or fivesome was way beyond his imagination’s capabilities.
It was weird to share so much with someone via text alone, making everything feel secret and sacred somehow. Yet, he could see the things they’d talked about reflected in Oliver’s expression when they were together or simply looking at each other across the room. It helped lessen the feeling of being trapped on one side of a vast chasm, because he’d found a messenger system to send notes rather than getting over the gulf entirely.
Having Elet there to translate had the opposite effect, like nothing was private and everyone was involved in any conversation that was had. Privacy vanished completely. That was why Rune favored the emails as a way to catch up and stay engaged.
Running snippets of phrases and thoughts through his head, Rune lingered in the shower attached to his room. He’d never been big into grooming before, but the bathroom was like a spa, with high end fixtures, a jetted tub, mood lighting, a two-person shower with a rainfall shower-head and three other shower-heads spraying from various directions. There was also a speaker system built in that Rune was tempted to use just to fuck with Oliver if he was listening in and put on Celine Dion or something at full blast.
He scrubbed his arms, liking the way the bubbles mixed with ink and scars. Rune had two full sleeves and a massive back piece. There were smaller tattoos on his fingers and some trailed up his neck to wrap behind his ears. It had pissed him off when so much of the work he had was torn away, the asphalt working like a cheese grater on his skin.
Scanning the areas of his arms with newly blank patches of scarred skin, he tried to let the shapes spur possibilities for new tattoo ideas.
The steam was filled with masculine aromas which added to the sense of being in a strange, indulgent place. Most of the time he just showered with plain soap and water. Oliver didn’t even have soap. He had a bunch of scented body washes and expensive-looking shampoos, conditioners, scrubs and all sorts of weird shit. Half the time Rune spent in the shower was in deciding what to use and how.
He liked it, though. He took two showers a day now—morning and night. Might as well, right?
Stepping out of the cavernous, tiled shower, Rune did a rough pat-dry and barely remembered to wrap the towel around his waist as he went back into his bedroom.
Where Oliver was lounging on the bed.
Rune cocked an eyebrow at him, holding onto the ends of the towel a little more securely but not out of shyness. He just didn’t quite know what was up.
At first, Oliver didn’t even seem to notice Rune’s confusion. He was way too busy ogling every inch of bare skin showing.
Rune waved to get Oliver’s attention, then pointed to his eyes.
Oliver smiled slyly and shrugged.
Rune re-secured the end of his towel, then signed: Tired of studying?
He wasn’t sure the question would be understood, so he was pleasantly surprised to see Oliver tilt his flattened hand back and forth. He also screwed his face up a little as he signed: Frustrated. I want to talk to you.
Frustrated? Rune echoed, letting his confusion show in his face.
Oliver thought a minute, then slowly explained in a simplified way that if it was him, he’d be going crazy. Then asked if Rune was okay.
Feeling a little on the spot to be near-naked and having his first real face-to-face conversation with Oliver, Rune knew the bout of shyness showed. Fearing a blush as Oliver kept looking places Rune wasn’t used to men looking so blatantly, he resigned himself to his vulnerable state and tried to own it.
I’m okay. It’s better here, Rune explained. Your studying means you care. It helps.
Oliver asked if Rune was angry.
Unsure how to reply, Rune watched Oliver’s eyes for a minute, but they gave away little besides endless hunger for knowledge and satisfaction, as usual. He was engaged, though. He was paying close attention.
Rune shrugged, holding things back, masking his expression.
So Oliver repeated himself.
Maybe, he admitted. It’s not your problem.
I’m your Dom, Oliver argued, his brow furrowing.
Rune nearly smiled. Oliver was expressive enough without the signs to convey plenty of his intention, just in his body language and the contortions of his face.
The levity didn’t seem to please Oliver, who signed one thing: Revenge?
Then, Rune did smile, but kept his cards to himself.
Oliver signed a deliberate NO, wearing a stern expression, bringing his index and middle fingers together once with his thumb, the other fingers curls inward.
Rune shrugged and made a circle of his thumb and index finger, his other fingers extended in the sign for okay.
He wanted to change the topic. Luckily, he had the upper hand. He was the one who’d been pushing to get physical. He had the ability to drop the towel and cross the line.
Something held him back. Call it uncharacteristic bashfulness. Call it a reluctance to look a gift horse in the mouth. If Oliver was disappointed in what Rune had to offer sexually, it might mean he’d be back on the street again, out of luck.
Leaning back against the pillows, ankles crossed, fully dressed with his shoes and everything, Oliver leaned on one elbow, holding Rune’s body in his sights. He uncrossed his legs, spread them a little as he bent one knee and leaned back. He adjusted himself and Rune looked away.
When Rune looked back, Oliver was the one smiling.
Was he calling Rune’s bluff? Seeing if he’d strip and try going for a wrestle again? Oliver seemed awfully cozy on the bed, like he was settled in for a long stay.
Rune wished he hadn’t just come from the indulgent shower, fit for Gods. It made it a hell of a lot harder to do something that risked his newfound luck. One wrong move and he’d have to say goodbye to such luxuries.
Then again, if he was going to get kicked out, he wanted to know sooner than later. Get it over with.
So, he held onto the front flap of the towel, and tugged the back flap loose. The towel unwound, exposing Rune’s backside, the fallen towel held tightly in front to mask his crotch and tease a little, testing the waters.
Heart pounding, it amazed Rune to see Oliver’s confidence and hunger only grow. He seemed to leisurely drink in all of Rune’s nervousness and feigned cockiness. An almost bored demeanor encouraged Rune to try getting the upper hand, like it wasn’t even possible.
Rune had never been with a guy like that before. He was too used to scared-shitless, closeted, middle-class wimps looking to suck or get fucked. Now, Rune was the prey, and he was being hunted.
Standing there, barely covered, his ass in the wind, at first Rune was shocked when Oliver dropped his gaze and pulled out his phone, like he was uninterested or had a call to take.
But then he tapped the screen a few times and pointed the back of the phone at Rune, holding it there.
Skin prickling with goosebumps, Rune realized he was being filmed. It made him want to seem more confident, when he’d never been more intimidated.
The tension of that moment wasn’t anything like it had been at Manse. It wasn’t a game. It wasn’t about getting laid. It was about proving himself to someone who had demonstrated for going on a month an ability to provide and care for him, long term.
There were stakes. Oliver had barely gotten any work done so he could learn a new language as fast as humanly possible. All for Rune.
The silence crowded in. His vision began to black out at the edges and the pressure behind his ears increased, so he closed his eyes, hoping it would pass. His hands stopped feeling the towel’s terry cloth texture, or the room’s slight chill, or the drips of water sliding down his back, or anything else.
He knew he cried out in surprise, feeling the exclamation voice from his throat when he felt a touch. He trembled a little, uncontrollably, as a body pressed close to his back. A hand cupped the side of his ass, squeezed, and a warm mouth sucked a kiss to his jaw. Oliver’s cologne filled Rune’s head. Rune kept his eyes shut as Oliver’s other hand caressed Rune’s chest, pausing to twist his left nipple.
The hand squeezing his ass relaxed, rubbed over to his crack and traced up to his pucker. A pair of fingertips circled the opening, teasing it for a moment. Before Rune had gotten over the shock, the hand flattened on the center of his chest, braced against him, and a single, dry finger pushed through his rim. It kept sheathing in him and quickly bottomed out. There were several reactions.
Oliver’s heated breath exhaled against Rune’s neck, and he held it there inside him. Rune, trying to stay silent, knew sounds were slipping free despite his best efforts, and the worst part was he couldn’t hear them to know if he should have been embarrassed or not. This caused him to tense up, even as his cock clearly enjoyed the power play, getting hard in record speed.
He didn’t throw any elbows or fight it. Oliver pumped his finger gently, testing his new submissive, waiting to see if Rune would submit. But there was no drive to top from the bottom like he’d done before. In that moment, he didn’t want to challenge Oliver. He was exhausted from trying to act like everything was okay, that he was handling his isolation fine, and that the chaos of his life wasn’t a big deal. So, he gave in.
He shifted his legs slightly more apart.
Oliver peppered light kisses down the side of Rune’s neck in response, then pulled out. Gripping Rune by the back of the neck and pushing with a hand to his back, Oliver walked him forward, to the end of the bed, then guided him to bend sharply over at the waist. Rune dropped the towel, bracing his hands on the bed.
For a moment, he couldn’t feel Oliver at all.
Then there was heat behind him.
A wet fingertip teased his rim. The touch was unhurried, lingering, like Oliver was watching Rune’s reactions, letting him feel vulnerable.
And it worked, if that was what he was going for, because Rune understood he wasn’t in control at all. Oliver had him—physically, sexually, practically, psychologically.
Two wet fingertips slowly filled his hole. Just the tips held inside him, and god how Rune wished he knew what noises he was making so he could filter them better. His thighs and stomach muscles quivered.
How long had it been? How many years since he’d been taken by another man?
The math eluded him.
Oliver spread the fingers slightly, testing the stretch of Rune’s hole, causing him to tilt his hips even more to receive and struggling not to clench; to just allow it. But the patience and terrifying strength of the move, showing how Oliver was willing to take Rune apart slowly, thoroughly, no matter if he fought or not, unraveled some of Rune’s protections.
He sensed Oliver moving, but the fingers stayed, didn’t sheath in him, just toyed a little longer with his rim.
Then Oliver’s other hand grabbed Rune’s left butt cheek and teeth bit down just above where it gripped him. Hard enough to make Rune voice his surprise and pain. Oliver used the hand to spread Rune’s hole and took a long lick up Rune’s cheek. He did it again, closer to his opening but not quite touching it. Rune panted, trying to be still, his cock dripping.
And Oliver kept going. Kisses, teases with the pointed end of his tongue, wider licks as if to taste him better. The whole time, the fingers moved in and out of him, shallowly. They left him alternately empty, stretched, poked, and tickled. Rune knew Oliver watched him closely, studying every tremble, hearing every whimper. Rune had no way to protect himself, or hide, or pretend it wasn’t making him hot. That he didn’t want it, offering up his ass to a man much smarter and stronger than him in all the ways that really counted.
Rune reached for his cock, needing relief.
Oliver smacked his hand away, the skin stinging where it was struck.
Oliver gathered up Rune’s balls, tugging them back between his spread legs, mouthing over them, and gradually let his fingers stuff Rune’s ass, entering him inch by inch, widening in a V the whole time, increasing the ache, fast.
Rune wanted to beg. His pride kept him from speaking, but he allowed more desperation to enter his cries.
Oliver’s hand pulled out. He stopped touching, kissing, or licking Rune.
Without any warning, Rune felt intense pressure as he was entered. It wasn’t slow, or patient.
Oliver drove into him, pulling Rune’s ass back onto his cock, not easing up until he was fully seated.
Throbbing, aching, Rune was stretched wider than he’d been in several years. He wasn’t used to it and it fucked with his head as well.
There wasn’t time to adjust. Oliver thrust hard into him a few times, knocking Rune forward on the push, tugging him back on the withdrawal as his body fought to bear it, his practically-virgin ass gripped tightly around Oliver’s cock. It was humiliating, his face reddening with a rush of blood to heat it, his breathing out of control, his heart pounding. It just made him grateful at least they weren’t face to face.
As if reading Rune’s thoughts, Oliver slowly pulled out. He smacked Rune’s ass with an opened hand, pushed him onto the bed and manhandled him to his back. Grabbing hold of Rune’s legs, Oliver pushed them back as far as they’d go, spread wide.
The dark predator in him shone from behind his eyes, in the flash of perfect, white teeth and the glistening sweat on his skin.
Driven to look away, Rune lowered his gaze to Oliver’s long, thick, dark cock. It was rock hard, wet. Rune wanted it. God, how he wanted it. Shocked at himself, Rune grabbed his ankles, holding himself open.
Oliver climbed on, drove in, and Rune’s mouth worked, his back arching up off the bed as Oliver went deep. His hand dragged up Rune’s neck, the fingers folding around his chin to rub his lips, pushing between them to trap his tongue. Rune sucked, frowning at the pain and helplessness.
Oliver pulled on Rune’s jaw, forcing his mouth open wide. He bit down on Rune’s nipple in a sharp jolt, then tugged on it with his teeth. He let go only to scrape his teeth next against Rune’s chest, scratching the skin. He bit down on Rune’s shoulder hard enough to leave the mark, maybe breaking the skin. Pain spiraled around pleasure in a dizzy swirl that made him crazy. The whole time, Oliver fucked Rune at a hard, rough pace and it was all Rune could do to hold on and survive.