Drawn to you

In around five minutes, we’re already getting into his car and heading to the dojo to train. Secretly, I hope our training session ends up much like our last one – one move and then sex on the mats, and in the shower. I can handle that kind of training. However, Gerard has other ideas.
“Franklin, would you do this properly? This isn’t a joke,” he says calmly.
“Come on Gee, we’ve been here for nearly an hour already. This is your thing. It’s not mine.”
“I seem to recall it being very much your thing. You were very good when you were here.”
“You remember me from when I used to train?”
“Of course I do. You’re the Sensei’s son. Everyone knew you. Plus, who could miss that full body of tattoos of yours,” he grins.
“Well, I wasn’t good because I wanted to be. I was good because I was trained more often than anyone else in the club. But I quit remember. Besides what we’ve done lately, I haven’t trained properly in years.”
“I’m sure your father didn’t just let you sit around learning nothing all these years. Did he?”
“No. He didn’t,” I admit. “But I have been very resistant to learning.”
“I’ll bet you know more than you’re letting on. Otherwise you wouldn’t be able to handle the advanced stuff I’ve been making you do. How about disarming someone attacking you with a knife. Did he show you that?”
I stand there with my hands on my hips, tired from a lack of sleep, and the training we’ve already done, chewing my lips as I decide if I want to answer. If I give in now, and really train properly, this opens up a whole new door. It means I have to trust him enough to let him be my teacher. It means that I have to stop looking at this as a bit of temporary fun that could end up with us tumbling on the mats.
Closing my eyes, I take a breath. “Yes, he did teach me that.”
“Then show me,” he says, moving over to the wall and removing the plastic training knife. He walks over to me, tossing the knife from hand to hand. “I want you to take this seriously Franklin. We’re not here to play.”
He lunges at me with the knife, keeping his distance so he can assess how I respond. A grin curls over his mouth as I flinch, preparing myself to deflect his arm.
“I knew you remembered more than you let on,” he smiles, lunging toward me again. Once again, it’s a tease.
“I’m rusty. I’m not inept,” I reply, concentrating on his movement, knowing that if I’m not ready, he’ll get me with the blade – even though it’s plastic, it can still hurt when it jabs you.
He lunges at me with the knife, aiming for my stomach, and I dodge, pushing against his arm, as I grab hold of his wrist, twisting my body around so that I’m controlling his movement and the weapon.
A slight grin curves on his mouth as I direct the knife toward his throat. His role as the attacker is to behave as though the knife is real and try to keep it away from himself. So, the movement knocks him off balance, and as he falls, I manipulate his wrist, forcing him to roll his body and give up the weapon.
He lets out a chuckle as I put my knee into his back and remove the knife from his hand. “You’ve been holding out on me,” he says, as I slide off his back and sit down on the ground next to him.
“Now will you take me home and fuck me until I can’t stand it anymore?” I ask seriously, looking down at him as he rolls over onto his back and meets my eyes, smiling triumphantly. “What are you grinning so broadly about?”
“You’re training,” he states.
Rolling my eyes, I stand up and head toward the door. “I’ll meet you in the car then?” I say, refusing to discuss the fact that I just had my first proper training session in a very long time. There were no games, no sexual escapades, just pure training, and I have to admit it felt good.
Before I can make it to the door, Gerard rushes up behind me and scoops me up, flipping me over his shoulder like I’m a rag doll. Just like I did the last time he did this, I squeal – of course I do. He caught me completely by surprise.
“Put me down you brute,” I laugh. But he just gives me a tap on the butt, causing me to squeal again and beat my hands against his arse as he carries me toward the door.
“Well… at least the view is nice from here,” I state, giving up my fight and relaxing over his shoulder as we exit the gym.

“What’s going on?” I hear a very familiar voice ask.
Gerard slides me off his shoulder and sets me down on the gravel, an audible crunch sounds as I find my footing and straighten myself and my hair. I hesitate for a moment before turning around. “Hi dad,” I say. as the looming figure of my father stands before us, hands on hips as he waits for an answer.
“We were just training,” Gerard explains, his voice calm and collected. I find it amazing that he can act this way around my father when I’m having a short panic attack.
“Keep it that way,” my father says, looking pointedly at Gerard. “Franklin. Can I speak to you inside for a moment?”
“Um, sure,” I answer, leaving Gerard outside as I follow him into the reception area.
“How are you settling in to your new place?”
“Fine. It’s nice. I like it there.”
“Come to dinner at the house on Wednesday. Your mother misses you.”
“Of course.”
He leans behind the counter and pulls out a plastic binder, thick with paperwork before he looks up at me again.
“Look after yourself ok?” he says, letting me know he’s said all he needs to. Although I find it strange that he isn’t saying anything about the fact that he just found out I was training again.
“You too dad. I’ll see you Wednesday.”
“Is everything ok?” Gerard asks, as I walk outside.
“Yeah,” I nod quickly. “He just wants me to have dinner with him and mum on Wednesday.”
“Fair enough,” he says, opening the car door for me to get inside. “What time is your class?” he asks on the way back to his apartment.
“Two,” I tell him, as I admire the small stubble forming on his face when the sun shines at his beautiful face, feeling my insides clench just thinking about all the things we could be doing until that time. “What about you? Do you have anything on today?”
“Just you.” He looks at me momentarily, the heat in his eyes is enough to send my heart racing.
The moment he parks the car, I unclick my belt myself and jump out of the car, before the engine is even turned off. “Hurry,” I call out to him, giving him a knowing grin before I spin on my heel and run for the foyer door.
He’s fast, and by the time I’m in the stairwell, I hear him coming up behind me. Glancing over my shoulder, I laugh as I quicken my pace, noting the hungry look in his eyes as he pursues me up the second flight of stairs.
“Gotcha,” he growls, his hands gripping my waist and lifting me off the ground, spinning me so I face him. Squealing with laughter as we collapse on the staircase together, I can’t help but notice how he holds me to him to soften my fall. “I’ve got you,” he says again, but in a whisper this time as he brushes his lips over mine, his arms sliding around my body as he lifts me off the stairs and takes my mouth with his.
I wrap myself around him, legs and arms as he carries me up the last few steps, kissing me fervently as he slides his key in the door and lets us inside.
“I want you Frankie. I can’t stop wanting you,” he murmurs, as we each tighten our grip around each other, it’s verging on being painful, but I can’t stop pulling at him. I dig my nails into his back through his shirt and just pull.
“Fuck me Gerard,” I gasp. “Fuck me now and don't stop. I want you inside me. I want to feel you. Please.”
He drops us to the floor, dragging my sweatpants down my legs and pushing them to the side before sliding his hands underneath my arse and moving me like a doll so that my legs are over his shoulders. My back curves upward as he lifts my hips off the floor and drives his tongue between my entrance then forcefully shoving his tongue in.
“Oh god,” I gasp out, my arms splayed on the floor in support as I push down on his shoulders with my thighs, rocking myself against his mouth as he dines from my depths. His tongue swirling fiercely around my hole as he sucks and licks at me, holding me in position.
My whimpering increases as I rub my cock and I find myself bucking against his face as the sensation increases, setting my senses on fire. His hand slips underneath my shirt, his long fingers curling around my ribs as he withdraws his mouth and lifts me toward him, repositioning his arms as I slide down his body and he captures my mouth in his, feeding me the taste of my own tastes as his tongue drives into my mouth fiercely and I feel as though I’m about to be devoured by him.
I don’t think there’s anything in this world I want more.
I slide my hands under his shirt, urging it upward as my fingers desire the contact of his flesh. “Take it off,” I whisper, as I pull at the fabric and graze my teeth over the stubble on his chin.
“You too,” he says, lifting his own shirt as his eyes smoulder looking at mine.
Together, we remove our shirts, each one drinking the sight of the other in. I crawl toward him, dipping my head as he starts to lean back and running my tongue from the line between his nipples, all the way up and between his collarbones, tasting his salt as I continue up his neck, my licks turning into soft, sucking kisses. Once again, I graze my teeth over his chin, loving the feel of his stubble as I make my way to his mouth, kissing him hungrily before pausing to look down at him.
“How is this even happening?” I whisper, as I hold myself over him, looking down into a set of eyes that seem to mirror that exact emotion in mine. This feeling is so much – maybe too much for such a short amount of time. My chest actually hurts from the desire I experience around him.
He reaches a hand up and lightly touches my face, before pulling at the elastic that secured my fringe, so it falls like a curtain over my eyes.
“I don’t know. But it is,” he says, rolling us over again so he’s on top, shifting his weight to remove his pants and settle himself between my legs. As he pushes inside me, our eyes are locked and they stay that way as he thrusts back and forth languidly. I’m scared to blink, I don’t want to miss a second of this… this thing we’re sharing.
It’s not love. I know it’s not love. It feels more like… a compulsion – something I don’t think I could stop. Even if I wanted to.

Notes