Page 10 of Sicken of the Calm
“Doyouwant to try to getthis to work?” I growl. Ezra holds his hands up, still grinning.
“Nope. You’re doing amazing. FuckExcel, go you,” he says. I roll my eyes, turning back to the computer. “What’sthe problem? Is it the data?”
“It’s not the data. It’s theprogram.It’s the – look! Why does it do that? Why would it thinkthat’sthe datafor the y-axis I just-” I pull the hair on my head.
“Ok, dude, I think we need alittle break.”
“I don’t need a break.”
“Uh, yeah, you do. We can dosomething relaxing.”
“I’m not doing fucking yoga withyou,” I say. Ezra snorts.
“Well, then I’ve run out ofideas. That’s all I do, yoga 24/7, no other way to relax. Well, that, andjerking off.” There’s a pause. “Maybe you should try that.”
I turn to glare at him, expectingto see a teasing grin. Instead, his face is quiet. Intense. My whole bodystills like it’s sensing a danger my mind hasn’t caught up to. I know I couldjust roll my eyes and make a joke of it, but the moment stretches past thepoint of no return.
Slowly, Ezra sits back, stillpinning me in place with his eyes. I can feel every breath in my tight chest,in my throat, in my dry mouth.
What the fuck is going on?Whatthe fuck is going on?
Ezra slides his chair to facemine. Slowly, slowly, he lifts one of his long legs and places it on the sideof my wheeled chair and pushes gently. The chair slides away from the deskuntil it faces him. The mouse clatters on the desk as I release it from mysuddenly sweaty hand.
I wait for the joke to end. Waitfor him to sit up, to throw his arms in the air, to wink and tease. Instead,the stillness thickens and settles like honey, sweet and oppressive.
“Why don’t you show me what youlike?” Ezra says. His deep voice makes my own mouth open, but I can’t thinkenough to protest. His foot is still on the side of the chair. I can feel thepressure of it on my thigh. I can’t move and I can’t think and I can’t-
“Show me what you like, Joaquin,”he says, and my name in his mouth makes my chest tighten. I’m caught in thecurrent of his demand. A soft sound leaves me, a formless breath, “ah”.
My head is a single white room.My hand is no longer mine. It’s Ezra’s, and it moves down between my legs.Presses against my jeans and the hardening beneath. My breath stutters and hislips part slightly, a flash of tongue. Everything is happening too quickly forthe fog of my thoughts to catch up, even if I wanted them to.
And, God, I don’t.
Despite Ezra’s order to show himwhat I like, my hand is frozen in place. Ezra shifts slightly in his seat andmy eyes flicker down his body.
“Keep your eyes on mine,” he sayswithout reproach. I immediately do as asked, relieved at the anchor of hisorders. The light clears in his eyes and he sits a little straighter.
“Unbutton and unzip your jeans,Joaquin.”
My chest is too constricted todraw in a full breath, but I still try. I can feel my heart inside it,pounding. I lift my other hand to the crux of my legs and unbutton the jeans.The sound of the zipper is almost obscene in the sanctity of the quiet and thestillness.
“Good,” he says, and my eyesclose for a moment before looking at Ezra again. I can feel the heat of theblush that had been shocked into absence start to burn my cheeks.
I don’t know what I’m doing, butas long as Ezra keeps deciding for me, I won’t have to.
“Lift your hips up and pull yourjeans down to your feet.” His voice is unwavering, intense but not cold. Myhands feel big, clumsy, as they grip the edge of my jeans. I plant my feet onthe floor and arch up slightly, pulling my jeans down. I have to break eyecontact for a few seconds as I yank them to my feet.
The heat in Ezra’s eyes as I lookup is an unbearable pleasure.
“I want you to rub yourselfthrough your boxers,” Ezra says. I lick my lips. Even as my mind is hesitating,my hand is already moving. It presses the heel of its palm against my balls,pressing, releasing, and pressing again. Ezra watches with pupil-eyes as Islide my hand, gently grabbing my semi-erect cock through the white cloth. Irub up and down slightly, pressing against the head, but I barely have to doanything to get harder, propelled by the look on Ezra’s face.
Ezra keeps me there until my cockis straining against the tight material of my boxers.
“Take them off,” he says, and hisvoice is a little rougher, a little lower. Any thought that might have beenleft in my head splinters away.
My boxers join my jeans on thefloor and I’m left completely exposed from the waist down. I can’t look awayfrom Ezra’s eyes, but I can feel my cock straining up. Ezra licks his lips, twored points appearing high on his cheeks.
“Spread your legs.” The commandgoes straight through me. The embarrassment that takes hold has a heat and adepth I’ve never felt before, both burning and purifying, and I find myselfwanting more.
