Aral didn't hear the familiar voice of his little cousin. He was lost in the peak of sensation, kept there minute after painful and perfect minute.
He and Ges had been casual this afternoon—nothing too elaborate. Ges had stripped him of his shirt and trousers, leaving only the skin-tight under-trousers worn against the Barayaran cold.
Ges had stripped the same way, the better to rub his bare chest across Aral's chest and mouth.
They'd found some soft scarves, and now he was tied with his hands together up against the middle of the brass frame, while more scarves bound him spread-eagled to the corners.
He was blindfolded, and therefore each instant was novel and unexpected. Then Ges brought his quirt down on Aral's taut thighs, and the world went white.
Ges was nothing if not inventive, even in this mundane setting. A slash might come on Aral's thighs, causing him to shout, and then a soft kiss against his neck.
A bite to his neck, or a caress of his swelling cock. Ges would take an ice cube in his mouth, then suck on his nipples until they were nearly frozen.
Or a swallow of vodka, and then tongue open Aral's mouth and let the liquor dribble in.
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