In Spite Of
by Laura Shapiro

He was wearing charcoal trousers and a pale green pinpoint broadcloth shirt, with the sleeves rolled up tightly against his forearms. The top button was undone, revealing a thatch of hair, and he could feel a sheen of sweat covering his face, his arms, the palms of his hands. Ray worried that he might lose his grip on the crop.

Fraser was on all fours, his hands splayed, his knees braced against the wood of the floor. Soon, they would begin to hurt.

Fraser's clothes were folded, lying on the chair beside him. His spine curved slightly against the blows. His backside glowed with damage. Welts rose, bruises would follow. No blood, though. Ray was careful.

This was not natural to him. This wasn't something Ray had done before. He couldn't quite believe that he was doing it now. Benny had turned fourteen colors before being able to ask him.

He never wanted to hurt Benny.

Well, that wasn't true. Benny annoyed the fuck out of him on a consistent basis, and there had been plenty of times when he'd imagined getting his hands around that throat.

But he never wanted to hurt him like this. He was nowhere near rage, or even annoyance. He didn't understand this thing that Benny wanted. He only knew that he wanted it, needed it, had asked for it in spite of his embarrassment. In spite of the risk.

When Benny begged Ray to fuck him harder, Ray fucked him harder. When he asked Ray to cuff him to the bed, Ray chuckled and complied. He'd read about stuff like that. He hadn't known what it would lead to. But he couldn't imagine taking any of it back, even if he'd known. It was good to fuck Benny hard. And the cuffs...

The crop bit into the flesh of Benny's ass, drawing blood where Ray hadn't meant to.

A hiss escaped them both, and Ray's arm dropped to his side. It throbbed with use. Sweat soaked his shirt under the arms and in the small of his back. He wasn't sure what to do.

"Please, Ray --" Benny panted. His hands strained under him, his arms trembled. His cock seemed to beg for Ray's hand.

"What do you want, Benny?" The rasp of his voice surprised him. His own cock lifted, filled. He liked Benny begging him. He liked it a lot.

"Please don't stop."

The riding crop sang through the air. Ray aimed the blow lower, just above where his balls started. The danger of it thrilled him.

Benny's cry split the air. He had been silent, before, chewing on his lip or something. Holding it in. Ray didn't want him to hold it in anymore.

His arm went on auto-pilot, cutting the room's heat again and again, so fast he couldn't hear it anymore, couldn't hear it over Benny's cries. He focused on his aim, on the ache in his cock, on the sounds Benny made. Those sounds were making him so hard it shamed him.

And part of him wanted to hurt Benny more for making Ray hurt him in the first place.

Benny shouted the safeword even as he came, spattering the floor. Ray dropped the crop and rushed to him, held him, trying not to touch the wreck he had made of Benny's backside.

"Are you okay?" Benny was crying. Ray stroked his face and tears came away on his fingers. Fear whispered to him. What had he done?

Then he was thrown off-balance by the force of Benny's embrace, as his lover buried his face in his neck and sobbed.

"*Thank you,* Ray. Thank you so much..."

"You...you liked it?" He petted Benny's hair.

"Oh, Ray. You--" His voice hitched, and he felt like he was struggling to stop crying. "You have no idea."

Ray swallowed. "I guess I don't."

Benny pulled back, wiping his face on his arm. Ray kept his arms around him. He seemed to need that. Ray needed it too. "I know it was difficult for you. But--"

"Anytime, Benny." And Ray knew he was damned. "Anytime."

END