Sex in C Major

The world would not be just the confines of the house anymore, if Stefan could be trusted again.

If he could be well. Good. Better.

Maybe...

Maybe he ought to see a therapist. A sex therapist, obviously. A normal therapist would go ballistic at their arrangement. Maybe he ought to start doing proper health stuff. Like a gym. Or go running with Yannis in the morning. Exercise was supposed to help, wasn't it? With depression and stuff.

Maybe he ought to...

In the middle of the street, Stefan stopped.

There was a cafe ahead of him. With a sign in the window.

Jobs.

Yannis' words, ages ago now, whispered back into his mind. A long time in their house, being fucked, for a jobseeker. And Stefan had been outraged, because what did Yannis know. How could he judge? How could a mess like Stefan have a-

But.

How could a mess like Yannis study?

He'd run away as a teenager. As a girl. Presenting as one, anyway. So he had he must have transitioned as a student. While studying. With people who saw everything.

With some people who would hate him.

And he must have worked. Daz worked in a shop. He couldn't support the house alone. There had to have been jobs. Jobs that saw patchy facial hair and hot flushes from the hormones, and that strange creaking of a voice dropping ten years after it should have done.

He'd done it.

Why couldn't Stefan?

Stefan licked his lips. Struck out across the street. Pushed at the door.

"Hi." His voice sounded alien. Throaty. Deep. Quiet. He didn't know how to raise it. So, so quiet. "Um. Your job ad. Do you have an application form? Or do I drop in a CV, or what?"

The barista smiled. A stranger. Barely more than a girl.

"Let me just the manager," she trilled.

Stefan curled his hands into fists in his pockets and smiled back. 48

There was no warning.

Stefan had been told nothing aside from they would come back on Monday, and the first he knew of their return was Constantinople flying in through the cat flap in the back door and dashing to the front, meowing incessantly.

"What do you "

Keys scraped in the lock.

It was working on autopilot. In a split second, Stefan was kneeling in the living room doorway, clad only in his T-shirt, belt, and socks. He fisted his hands on top of his thighs to hide the shaking, knowing full-well what would happen soon.

Four days fuck-free would be over.

And God, but he wanted it.

The door popped open. Yannis crooned something in Turkish, stooping to pick up the cat. It purred, and he slid around Stefan in the doorway and disappeared into the living room without so much as glancing at him

Daz closed the door.

Dropped their bag on the hall floor.

And said, "Good evening."

"Welcome home, Sir."

A hand rubbed over Stefan's hair and scratched at his scalp like he was a cat.

"Have you been good?"

"Yes, Sir."

"You sure?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Touched yourself?"

"No."

"Had anybody over?"

"No."

"Gone to see anyone?"

"Not like that, Sir."

A knuckle tapped lightly against the top of his head, like a warning. "Explain."

"I went to a cafe. And applied for a job. So-so I went to see the manager. But it was just about a job. I didn't meet anybody else."

"What job?"

"Just a cafe job. You know. Making coffee and cleaning tables and stuff. Sixteen hours a week."

"Why do you want a job?"

"Because because it means I'll be better. I'll have more structure."

"What if someone asks for your number at this job? Or gives you theirs?"

"I won't take it. Or give it. I belong to you and Yannis. Sir."

The hand rubbed at his hair again.

Stefan licked his lips.

"If-if you don't want me to get a job, Sir, I won't."

"We'll test it out. If you start acting out again, it'll be removed."

"Yes, Sir."

"Anything else?"

"Um. I don't think so, Sir."

"What have you been doing with yourself, home alone all the time?"

"Playing with the cat. Watching TV. Playing my cello. Um. I fixed that squeaky hinge on the bathroom door that Yannis doesn't like."

The hand ruffled, then disappeared.

"Good. Still wearing your belt, I see."

"Yes, Sir."

"Have you been masturbating?"

"No, Sir."

"Fucked yourself?"

"No."

"Did you wear it all the time, like I told you?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Any accidents?"

Stefan felt his face warm at the phrase.

"No, Sir."

"Very good. When is it due to release?"

Stefan glanced up at the clock on the wall. "Um. Thirteen minutes, Sir."

"And what are you going to do when it does?"

"Whatever you want, Sir."

"You're going to stay right there until it releases. Then you're going to step out of it, and go up to the bedroom. You're going to welcome me home properly, and then you're going to come back downstairs and help Yannis make dinner. Understood?"

Stefan's dick twitched inside its metal prison, and he curled his fingers across his knees, squeezing tightly to stop them shaking.