tamás

Story Notes: This was my first ever story. Written as a Christmas challenge response, I managed to include all but one of the designated words (couldn't manage wassailing!). Contains a little bit of light bondage thrown in for fun. "Have yourself a Merry Little Christmas..." The warm tones of Judy Garland singing to comfort a weeping Margaret O'Brien drift up from the TV downstairs. I know that he won't make his move until the film ends. He wants to make me wait, leave me in an agony of anticipation. He never lets me touch him. His hands, his mouth, have been over every part of me, but I am not allowed to feel him in return. Sometimes he allows me to taste him, to suck greedily on his gorgeous dick, but if I try to use my hands he'll pull back and stop until I have myself under control again. Last time I forgot the rules, couldn't help it - I was on fire, burning with desire for him. I had to touch, had to reach for him, tried to cup the back of his neck and bring his lips to mine. He pulled away from me, even left the house. I waited for him, but he didn't come back that night - I don't know where he stayed. I was afraid I'd lost him for good. I was so pathetically grateful when he asked me over again tonight. I hadn't seen him, except at the Base, for two weeks, was becoming frantic. So I agreed to abide by his rules. Only this time, he has added another: silence. If I speak, if I moan, if I so much as whimper, he will leave me again. And he has made sure I won't be using my hands - they are bound to the headboard using a couple of bandanas I'd left at his place. What is this power he has over me? Why do I let him treat me like this? We were friends for years, nothing more, taking pleasure in each other's company. If we were offworld, nothing counted but looking out for each other and for the team, achieving mission goals and returning alive and unharmed. Safely back at home, if we had downtime, we would eat pizza and play chess, sometimes watching ice hockey or indulging in the cultural heights of the Simpsons. I would sit by him while he watched the stars at night through his telescope, keeping him supplied with beer and boring him with myths of the gods and beasts that roam amongst the heavens, not even noticing when midnight passed and night became day again. Then one night, it all changed. A year ago today, actually. It was a cold night - snow blanketed the ground all around his house - and we were both curled up under the afghan on the sofa as we watched some classic movie. I guess I was a little drunk, but nothing out of the ordinary. The bells of the church were ringing out for Midnight Mass. I like the sound of church bells, their musical summons to prayer, celebration or commemoration. But to me it's just music - church is another world, one stranger even than the worlds we've visited. Religion is for other people, people who have not lost their parents when they were 8 years old, who have not been in foster care for the remainder of their childhood, who have not lost their wives... My faith is in those I love - my friends, my comrades. I was wearing the socks he had given me for Christmas the year I came back from Abydos - each had a snowman on the right side, and a reindeer on the left, and the right sock now also had the added feature of a hole by the big toe, but they were my Christmas socks - accept no substitutes. I stretched out, wriggling my toes in front of the fire. I sighed in contentment. I don't think I had ever felt more at peace - a Christmas movie, snow transforming the world into magic outside while we were cosily ensconced inside, presents lying tantalisingly under the tree, decorations around the room, holly draped over picture frames - and Jack. All we lacked were chestnuts roasting at the fire, and the scene would have been complete. Then something changed. Thomas stretched out too. His feet were bare - he had always disdained socks in the house, Christmas or no - and he moved his right foot over, hooking it round my ankle, rubbing his toes against the sole of my foot. I froze. I didn't dare to look at him, couldn't move my eyes from the foot rubbing so gently against mine. My heart thudded wildly in my chest. Was he teasing me? Was he trying to tell me he had seen how I looked at him - how I had tried not to look at him? He moved closer, his breathing becoming heavier, his arms snaking around me as he started nuzzling at my neck, all the while pushing me gently down until my head met the armrest. I finally emerged from my shock and moved to hold him, pull him closer to me. He became still - "No hands." I gave him a puzzled look, and intelligently responded, "Wha...?" He repeated, "No hands." He then returned to my neck, sucking a little harder, then started undoing my shirt. I couldn't believe this was happening, it was all so surreal. My thoughts started to scatter as he licked an exposed nipple, teasing it with his tongue until suddenly he fastened on it and sucked hard. I groaned with pleasure. I tried to lean my other side towards him to get the same attention for my other nipple, but he merely gave a lop-sided grin, gave it the lightest stroke with a finger, before removing my shirt completely. Without my hands I was helpless to direct him, to hold him closer to me, caress his hard muscles He moved down and before I knew it, he had unfastened my jeans and drawn them off my legs. He pushed my knees towards my chest and apart, gazing at my dick, which was rigidly standing to attention. I was lost in a haze of desire - so lost that I had not even noticed that he was still fully dressed while I was spread wantonly on the couch. Suddenly I became aware of what I must look like, what he was seeing. Legs spread like a slut, completely exposed, while he was... my heartbeat began to stutter. Was he just making fun of me? Was this an experiment on his part to see what I would do if he pretended to seduce me? And God, hadn't I been an easy target. I had gotten on my back and ready for him before you could sneeze three times. I tried to close my legs and sit up, but Jack pushed me down tenderly, looking at me like I was some sort of angel ('Yeah - Lucifer,' said a niggling little voice in my head) - his personal holy grail ('Goblet of Fire, more like,' insisted that little voice. 'Wanna grab my dick and see if it's a portkey?'). He left the room, causing me to panic yet again, but returned moments later with a tub of butter. "Spreadable," he quipped. Quickly, he stripped until he was as naked as me, then settled back onto the couch. I thought he was going to fuck me then and there, but he just started kissing his way from my neck to my groin, whispering constantly. I couldn't make out the words over the blood rushing in my ears. He took me in his mouth, alternately playing with me and sucking until I thought I would lose my mind. Then he took a dab of butter and rubbed it around my hole, gently pressing in with one finger until it was all the way up inside me, then twisting. I jumped and yelled as he rubbed over my prostate - again, and again. I writhed with pleasure, moaning and whimpering. I was in heaven. Seeing his silvering head around my cock drove me over the edge. I tried to warn him, to pull back, but he grabbed my ass and kept me in close, swallowing everything I produced. He didn't wait for me to recover, but pulled me down onto the floor, hoisting me into a kneeling position facing the back of the sofa, my chest supported by the cushions on which I had been lying just moments ago. He rubbed more butter over his dick and pressed inside me. His breath rasped in my ear, and again he was whispering, stroking my back, my shoulders, my arms. I could hardly breathe. I don't know if he knew, and I never told him, but it was the first time that I had had a cock inside me, and I could hardly believe that I had let it happen. It felt - strange. Uncomfortable. I began to be uncertain about whether I could do this, whether I wanted to do it, but then he shifted even closer in so that I felt his balls pressing against me, and all I could think about was that it was Thomas's dick - Thomas was inside me. Just the thought made me dizzy. I moaned and pushed back towards him as he started to move in me. Powerful but restrained. Taking me, owning me. I was shaking, breaking apart, pleasure beginning to overwhelm me yet again. His thrusts increased in force and speed until he was slamming into me, forcing me over the edge, until we both exploded, collapsing with exhaustion. And something changed in me. Changed permanently. From that moment, I fell in love with him - I was his. But he wasn't mine. Afterwards, I didn't know what to do. He made no indication he wanted me to be with him anymore, so I moved reluctantly to the guest room. It was the same every time after that - he never tried to hold on to me, so I always slept on my own. We've never talked about it, either that time or any time since. It happens only rarely. I never know when he's going to start gently sliding his hands over me, whispering in my ear, undressing me, but always "No hands". I've never been able to resist him, never wanted to resist him. So I wait for him, silent and restrained. Finally, the film ends and the TV goes silent. I strain to hear his footsteps coming up the stairs towards me, my dick already hungry for him. He stalks into the room, his full attention on me at last, and my breath catches in my throat. He takes his time looking me over, and I squirm under his gaze. He undresses quickly, and then without any preliminaries, he takes the lube out, squirts some over his fingers, and jams two of them up me, stretching me quickly. I nearly exclaim in surprise, but I see his eyes on me, challenging me, and I manage to keep quiet through the slight discomfort. Then he climbs onto me, and I realize with some disappointment that there is to be no foreplay this time. Maybe he has grown disinterested. Maybe he is bored of me. I can scarcely breathe at the thought. But he does not look disinterested. He might have abandoned foreplay this time, but this is something new. Until tonight, he has only ever sucked me off (or, sometimes, allowed me to suck him), or taken me from behind. He bends my knees back towards my chest - as usual, moving me gently but firmly, but instead of moving down to take me in his mouth, he lubes up his cock and presses in. After allowing me a moment to adjust to him, he starts fucking me with powerful strokes - and for the first time, I am able to look at his face as he takes me. His eyes lock with mine, and his gaze burns through me. Faster and harder he drives me, forcing me to the edge, the tip of his cock grazing my prostate again and again, until I come with a silent scream. I close my eyes as he finishes, filling me up with his semen, giving me this part of himself. And suddenly I realise - it's not enough. We're friends. He fucks me when he feels like it, and I let him. What kind of relationship is that? Am I so desperate that I'll take it if that's all he can offer me? Better to keep our friendship, and find someone else to love (although the little voice I recognise as truth in my head insists 'No way, not no how, never gonna happen.'). I know what I have to do. I have to end it. I don't want to, but my heart is breaking a little more each time we come together, and soon there will be nothing left of it. I feel tears gather in the corners of my eyes. God - I can't let him see them, he'll think I'm pathetic. But it's too late - before I can stop them, they're running down my cheeks. Thomas stills - "What's the matter, baby? Did I hurt you? You should have said." He hurries to untie my hands from the headboard. I shake my head, but I can't speak. "Then what's wrong?" Finally, the dam breaks, and I find myself sobbing uncontrollably, hiccoughing incoherently through words such as "can't", "no more" and "end it". A look of pain crosses Thomas's face. "You want to finish with me?" he says quietly. I shake my head vigorously, but then nod. "Yes." He sighs heavily. It's a while before he speaks again, softly, sadly. "I guess I saw this coming. I knew you didn't feel about me the way I feel about you, but I hoped..." I still cannot stop crying. I find myself curling into a ball to try to shield myself from the raw emotions - or perhaps to hide my tears from him, I don't know. Thomas's expression changes to one of panic. "Are you saying you never wanted this? Oh God, Danny, you should have said. Jesus, why did you let me?" He springs off the bed and starts pulling on his clothes. "God, I'm so sorry. I thought you... I'm sorry." "No," I mumble. "Wanted you." I try to collect myself - this isn't the reaction I expected from him. I don't know what I had expected, but it was more along the lines of a shrug of his shoulders and an "OK". It looks like I've actually hurt him. Time to confess. "I'm sorry, I just need more, and you can't give it. You want sex, and that's great - I do too, but I'm in love with you, and I can't..." Thomas looks confused. "What?" he says. "How many times do I have to say 'I love you' for you to think I mean it?" Now it's my turn to look confused. "But... you've never said it. When did you say it?" "Every time we make love. I can't seem to stop saying it. But you never say anything back. I kept hoping, but... I thought you knew, thought you understood. I thought you realized that I would never have made a move on you if I hadn't loved you." I feel colour beginning to spring to my cheeks. "Oh," I whisper. "You made me too crazy. I heard you whispering, but not what you were saying." Then I rally again. "And how was I supposed to know anyway? You've never tried to get close to me when we weren't having.... making love. You've never kissed me, never taken me in your arms." "But you never wanted it," Thomas says, still lost. "You never said anything, never tried... we only ever did iv when I made a move. You never stayed with me afterwards, let me hold you, you always got up and left. I was waiting, hoping for the day you'd want more from me, let me get closer." I make a last effort. "But you've never even let me touch you." Now it's Thomas's turn to blush a little. "I'm sorry, I... I love seeing you helpless for me. I want so much for you to let me dominate you. I need you so much, want to hold you so tight, but you always seem to slip away. As long as you let me stay in control, I feel I at least have a part of you." "But don't you realize - you have all of me. I love it that you make me submit to you, but I also want to feel you, touch you... give you a goddamn hand job!!" Jack smiles, and I finally realize that what I've been hoping, longing for, for all this time, has in fact been mine all along. "So does this mean I can kiss you now?" he asks. "You always could." "But we don't have any mistletoe." "I think that just this once, we can do without. Special dispensation for first kiss." As his lips descend towards mine, I can't help a small giggle from escaping. "What?" he asks, slightly disgruntled. "And God bless us, every one." "Shut up," he says affectionately, and no more words are possible as he swoops down and kisses me senseless. Chapter End Notes: Heartfelt thanks to Rubi and Saladscream, without whose support and betaship this story would never have seen the light of day.