The Master Bedroom
Come to me
In all your glamor and cruelty
Just do the thing that you do
And I'll undress you
-- Lady Gaga, ARTPOP
The silence that befell the world at dawn, while the sky was still partially dark and the sun was just starting to rise, had always struck Theodore as peaceful. Historically, it’d always indicated his success through another horrible night, like a sigh of relief after waking up from a bad dream. It was the only time he really had to himself, before the rest of the world woke up and started making noise, while the house was still quiet and the monsters made their exits. Tonight was no different, better with Laith’s companionship.
He closed the front door very carefully, trying not to wake up the sleeping guests, and crossed the room for the bar. Laith followed him close behind. With his bag slung over a shoulder, he led Laith up the stairs.
The second floor was a lot more confined than the open and spacious area downstairs. The landing was a small sitting area with one window and a door on the right wall, while the left one had an archway that led into a long, dark hallway. As they crossed it, he counted seven rooms, including the very last one. Only two doors were closed, so he guessed Justin and Emily weren’t sharing a bed, which gave them the master suite. Lucky.
The suite was huge, much bigger than his parents’ old bedroom, with enough space for different areas within itself. Walking in, they were welcomed by a cozy sitting area with armchairs over a rug and a coffee table between them. He dropped his bag on it, footsteps muffled by the fuzzy rug. Up ahead was a study—a small area with a writing desk, a chair, a lamp and a bookshelf. Piles of books and paper sheets cluttered the desk, evidence that it wasn’t used very often. Windows on the left wall lit up the room and give the chairs a view.
The entire right side was dedicated to the bed, up a step higher than the rest, to the backdrop of wide windows with beautiful curtains. Nightstands furnished each side of the bed, and further away, rows of closets lined both sides of the wall. Quietly, Laith closed the door—Theodore heard the clicking of the lock behind him.
“I’ve never actually been here. I’ve spent the night before, but only in one of the cousins’ rooms.”
Laith’s voice was background noise as Theodore shrugged his jacket off and walked towards the bed. At the back of the house where the sunrise couldn’t touch it, the room was dark but empty of shadows, the liminal space between day and night—neither. It was bright enough to see, even if the sky outside was a deep navy blue with stars peppered all over. He kicked his shoes off and stepped up onto the platform, socketed feet inches away from the bed. Staring at it, he thought of his parents; his mother on the left side and his father on the right, closest to the door. The last time he’d slept in one of these, he’d been ten.
Laith’s boots dropped to the ground, heavy on the wooden floorboards, far behind him. His heart skipped—was this what married life was like? Secretly, he entertained the idea. It was early in the morning and they’d just gotten back from a wedding, tired and a little drunk. Behind him, Laith took his clothes off. He turned around just to be sure, stealing a glance from over his shoulder. No, Laith was still dressed, sitting in one of the armchairs with his face in a hand, too drunk to drive—Theodore had driven them home. It occurred to him then just how considerate it’d be of him to help his husband undress. He didn’t know if his parents had ever done that for each other, but he remembered them stumbling down the hallway, leaning on each other for support.
Somehow, his quiet approach still made itself known, causing Laith to glance up at him, chin propped up into that hand, hair a handsome kind of messy. Even exhaustively drunk, Laith still managed to look good, bringing class to alcoholism. Theodore touched him on the shoulder and gently pushed him back, no fight. As he leaned against the armchair, Theodore caught sight of the flames in his eyes, burning low. Carefully, he straddled him.
“What is it?” His voice was a whisper, palms pressed flat against Laith’s stomach, over the fabric of his shirt. Not burlap. “You look exhausted.”
“I am.”
“You were fine a second ago.”
“I’ve been tired all night.”
His hands felt up Laith’s stomach, shirt riding along. “Do you work tomorrow?”
“Do you mean tomorrow tomorrow or later today? ‘Cause technically, it’s already Sunday.”
“Tomorrow.”
“Yeah, I do.”
His fingers traced the collar of Laith’s shirt, brushing the skin just above it. Leaning down, he pressed his lips to Laith’s neck.
“Isn’t tomorrow your first day of class?”
“I’m a businessman,” Theodore corrected, trailing down to Laith’s collar bone. “I have meetings tomorrow.”
“Yeah?” He could picture Laith’s smile through his voice, hands warm on his thighs. “You got a big project coming up?”
“Yes.” His back straightened up, eyes watching Laith down his nose. “I’ve told you all about it—the monthly close. You know how important it is.”
“I noticed you’ve been staying in late at the office.”
He smiled. “If we don’t balance those accounts, the auditors will have our heads.”
“I thought it was the receptionist.”
“Idiot...” He tugged on the front of Laith’s pants, undoing the button there. “She’s not half as good as you.”
Laith straightened up and pulled his shirt off, pecs meeting for half a second. The light glow of dawn cast over his body, chiseled like a Greek statue. It knocked Theodore as breathless as if it were the first time, eyes glancing down the ripples of his stomach to the front of his pants. Unzipping them, he pulled on the hem to see Hugo Boss written along the waistband of his boxers.
“Hypocrite,” he spoke under his breath, almost unaware of it.
The body in front of him leaned closer, hands pulling at his shirt. Reflexively, he lifted his arms to let Laith undress him too.
“I thought you didn’t wear designer.”
“Would you rather I wear Armani?”
He clicked his tongue. Still on autopilot, his legs pushed himself up, just enough to let Laith know what he wanted next. Always very perceptive, Laith undid his pants and pulled them down.
“Oh, you’re a Hilfiger man. Different factions.”
“That’s not the point I’m making.” He got up and kicked his pants all the way off, frustration rising in his chest. “You gave me so much shit last night, said we’re completely different people, that I didn’t belong in your space and shouldn’t be with people like you because I’m a piece of shit who wears designer and you’re a poor fucking bastard who can’t afford it, but then you have a lifetime crush on the Hollywood boys—who are just rich mama boys, by the way—and when I show up dressed like one of them, you practically fuck me right in the middle of the room, so what is it?”
His lungs drew shallow breaths, eyes fixed on Laith’s face, on the strange look there. At this point, his failure at reading it was just another log in the fire.
“Why are you so obsessed with rich pieces of shit?” he finally asked.
Slowly, green eyes sharpened into a much more familiar look, accompanied by a raised eyebrow, the scarred one. His heart jumped. “For the same reason you’re obsessed with tunnel rats.” Laith’s voice was perfectly unemotional, a statement of fact. Unbothered, he got up and walked over, way into Theodore’s personal space. “We’ve already talked about this.”
It was incredibly difficult to stand his ground with amber intoxicating his lungs and hands touching his waist, so delicate that one wrong step might push them away. He’d spent all night looking forward to this—was the argument really worth it? At this point, the urge to feel Laith’s body on his had grown roots, so deep-seated that it’d become part of him, a perpetual hunger. He touched Laith’s stomach and pushed him two drunken steps back. “Lie down.”
Obediently, Laith walked up to the bed. The way his pants hung on his hips, low enough to show his underwear, was a sight that Theodore would never miss, staring at his ass the whole way through. On the mattress, Laith pulled a pillow close to the center and lay on his back, hands behind his head, comfortable. Too comfortable, like he didn’t expect to do any work—which, okay, had been the case so far, but not tonight. Theodore knew that, if he wanted tonight to work out, he’d have to relinquish some of his authority and let Laith lead. Marquis’ words hammered into the back of his mind. The only problem was that power felt too good. Couldn’t he just know what to do? Couldn’t he simply be experienced without needing to practice?
With his heart in his throat, Theodore climbed onto the mattress, knees on each side of Laith’s body, hands by his head. This reminded him of their first time together, when Laith had lain across his single bed. Comparing himself now to who he’d been then, he realized he hadn’t actually learned anything. Wait, no—he’d learned how to kiss. It’d been by pure lack of self-awareness, copying every single thing Laith had done, but it’d worked. At least, he believed so, or Laith wouldn’t have wanted to do it again.
Sticking to what he knew, he laid his forearms on the mattress and leaned down, his face an inch away from Laith’s, noses just shy of brushing together. His hands bumped into Laith’s arms, so he followed them over to the wrists, not really thinking about it, just eager to feel the smoothness of his skin, Laith’s body like a furnace beneath him. Instinctively, he pinned both wrists down, placing a gorgeous smirk on Laith’s face. So he liked that, good. Since Theodore had never done this, markers on whether or not he was doing well were very much appreciated.
With a tilt of the head, he closed the gap between them, face pressed heavily against Laith’s own, lips pushed hard together. This was what he knew, so he let himself get comfortable with it, kissing Laith messy and hungry, breath coming in short. A hand touched Laith’s jaw and felt the way it moved, lazy but paced, following his lead. He liked it, the control, how dutifully Laith reacted to his every move, experienced enough to roll with the punches and turn whatever they did into a good time.
Briefly, he thought of topping. They’d never talked about this; he had no idea how these things were decided or if there were certain requirements for certain roles, but the thought of topping brought him much more peace than the alternative. He’d be in charge then, fully in control of what happened next, except that didn’t guarantee Laith’s enjoyment. Taking all of Laith’s previous partners into account, it was obvious that Theodore’s lack of experience would stand out like a sore thumb, so actually, maybe he shouldn’t. The amount of responsibility that came with that, fully accountable for Laith’s climax, washed him with a new wave of anxiety. No, he’d definitely not be doing that tonight; it was safer to embrace his fears and let Laith take the lead.
Resigning hesitantly, he broke the kiss. “Can you do this?” His voice was small, speaking with closed eyes, unable to look Laith in the face. “Please.”
“Really?”
Genuine surprise.
In response, he simply nodded, face burning with embarrassment. The hands under his own pulled free from his grasp, allowed to move without resistance—he’d already been defeated.
Laith shuffled beneath him, but he couldn’t tell what for. If their first time was any indication though, then Laith must be getting out of his pants.
Left to his own devices, Theodore slid his knees along the mattress and snuffed out some of the space between them. Their chests grazed together, Laith’s pecs like pillows compared to his own. When hands found his underwear, his face pulsed, chagrined beyond measure.
“The way you held me down, I thought you were gonna ride me.”
He shook his head. That wouldn’t be happening tonight, but maybe another time, when he’d had enough to drink, confidence sky high.
***
A/N: To access the rest of this scene, consider buying a physical copy for $9.99 or the Kindle version for $4.99 and support the author! (Buy here.)
Comments