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Chapter Five ~ Speak in My Dreams
by fallen_angel_db (fallen_angel_db)
at September 29th, 2006 (04:28 pm)

Time, just watching the time slipping away
Gimme a sign, where do you go when you can't find the way
So we watch and we wait and we crawl and we kneel
If you know who you are then you know how to feel
In time, maybe temptation is all that you need ...

Anticipation is good. Tiny sparks at the top of my spine. Tips of my fingers numb. Skin over muscles feeling like clothing that is too tight. Every movement conscious and cautious. Never too sure if I'm asking too much, wanting too much ... never too sure where that invisible line is and constantly reminding myself to watch for it. Listen to it. Respect it.

So easy to step over.

Yes, the build-up is good.

Touching toys and tools. The metal of a cuff, the smell of leather. Slick vinyl, stiff PVC. And because it is all mine the underlying scent of cinnamon. Dark, earth spice and sting and memories.

Too quickly, it always seems ... we're in the moment. And it's very good.

Sweat. Gasping breath. Whispered words in hoarse, harsh voices. ... Good ... More ... Please ... Yes, fuck .. yes ... Whimpers and moans, the perfect tone of metal on metal that goes straight to my cock. The sensuous glide of rope over skin. The snap of leather in the air or ... not. And just for him, guitar strings fresh out of the envelope.

The air is coated with sex. Not what you'd expect though. It is heady and thick, tropical and terrifying and overwhelming, this scent. A touch of copper and iron for flavor. Painpleasurepainpleasure mixing until I'm grinding my jaw to keep from gnashing my teeth to bite into it. Breathing it in and absorbing it. Dancing on the edge of a black hole in my mind, a place I'm afraid of and I crave and I can't fucking stay away from.

Stopping dead in my tracks in the middle of the moment to stare and memorize. Tilting my head just a little to see where the shadow that curves away from his shoulder and down the middle of his back ends. Admiring the cut of the skin that shivers over his abdomen. To kneel down and lick a bead of precome off the head of his cock.

My fingers follow a delicate line of sweat from his bound ankles to his knee, to his thighs to his hips. Over the smooth lines of his chest to the dip between his collarbone and I kiss there. Soft flick of my tongue, in contrast with everything that was not.

Coming down slowly. As good and as important as the beginning. And sometimes ... even though I wouldn't admit it to anyone but a very few ... sometimes this is my favorite.

Boundaries already crossed. Toys dropped and put away and left to be cleaned later, much later. Unbound limbs tangling in a desperation driven for touch, need, desire for what has already been consummated and taken and given.

Muscles sore and warm, bodies relaxed and well-used and this is the time I find out who I'm with. Not when I'm bound. Not when I'm begging. Not when he's gasping and keening and broken in my ropes and under my hands. Not when that scent is the drug that we're breathing as blood and sweat mix over bruises and welts.

But now.

After the shower, hair still dripping a little. TJ's wearing one of my silk robes since his clothes were torn and we're sitting on the couch. Thighs touching, hip to knee. The television is on, a replay of a World Cup game. Ice cold beer in bottles in our hands and I'm lighting up a joint. Passing it off to him and eyeing the trays of cold cuts and fruit and cheese ordered before and sent from the kitchen while we were bathing together.

"So, yeah. That was what I learned in college."


Posted by: not_thyne (not_thyne)
Posted at: September 29th, 2006 09:36 pm (UTC)

Raw skinned and loose, heat pouring from every pore and follicle, tendons warmed and stretched and sprung, we sit together, our bodies nearly sated. Almost satisfied to the bone, but the rest of what makes us who we are – our minds, our hearts -- are ravenous and curious and wanting. I can see it in David’s eyes when he looks at me, when there’s no role to play, no scene to direct or succumb to.

We can’t seem to get close enough; whether waking in a warm tangle of arms and legs and moist mouths on sleep-hot skin that builds to hushed touches and deep kisses and slow, languorous good morning sex, or meeting in the hallway where fingertips graze hello and reach and caress and pull us together into the most convenient place to feel skin on skin and lap the remnants of a joyous, irresistible fuck out of each others’ mouths.

Certainly not when we are caught in our shadows, crossing the darkest meridians of shared desire, rending each others’ flesh and limits with leather and catgut and silk-wrapped steel.

And certainly not now, lounging here on the couch after a very thorough workout that feels like I spent the day at Big D’s Sex Gym. (The Myoflex he rubbed into the small of my back should keep me from seizing up, at least for now.) Long fingers circle the reddened skin at my wrist and dwell there for a moment before moving on to the platters of food spread out before us.

He plucks a round slice of salami, rolls it up with a piece of capicola and a whisper-thin sliver of provolone and inhales it as he makes one for me. Spicy and sweet and tangy and it’s perfect with the beer. The kiss that follows is laced with peppery antipasto, sweet herb smoke, and David, delicious. We savor it and break slowly, thoughtfully.

His eyelashes brush my cheekbone as I speak.

“Let me guess. Subbing for freshman and sophomore year, domming for junior and senior?”

“Something like that,” he laughs, and takes a swig of beer, wincing slightly as he sits back and adjusts his shoulders.

There’s striping across them that’s still hot, still raw, and thinking that he’ll have to sleep on his stomach tonight brings a smile to my face. I tell him so, and he curses me. Brushes the robe away, rests his palm over my bare thigh and digs his thumb into my flesh with a wicked smile -- right into a luscious blood-dark bruise in the shape of his mouth that I’ve been nursing since Tuesday.

“Yo, yo, baby. Point taken,” I laugh, batting his hand away and pulling the robe closed. “Must’ve been a hell of a school. We did plenty of that where I went, all in the name of artistic expression. I went to three different schools and each had at least one exhibit called The Art of Torture.”

Shift a little in my seat and idly consider asking him if there’s another gel ice pack in the fridge. I should, but . . . I’m comfortable enough. We’re distracted for a minute by some seriously exciting action in midfield, but the defense fizzles fast. Besides, I’d rather talk. And listen.

We’ve eaten and drank and fucked and filled ourselves in so many other ways in these fleeting days, but I’m here for deeper sustenance, and I think he is, too. If I’m wrong, we’ll both know soon enough.

“You haven’t told me where you went to school, who you played for, your stats. Who scouted you? Who did you dream of being drafted by? And the man you loved when you got hurt, the one you pushed away? What was that about?”

Posted by: fallen_angel_db (fallen_angel_db)
Posted at: September 29th, 2006 09:37 pm (UTC)

"Penn State. I'm nothing but a hometown boy."

I watch the game on the screen across from us. Fingers curling automatically and I shift on the smooth leather. Take another drag off the pot and let the shivers of pain work through me. Take away the dream and give me reality.

"Stats?" A smile curves my lips and smoke slips out around each word. "Upper end of average. 75.4 until my senior year. Then I was on a freaking ride. Couldn't do anything wrong. I was working on fucking 82.5 before I was hit. Coulda' written my own ticket into the Pros. I know I was fucking offered it often enough, but I wanted to stay. Wanted to finish out the year with my team, with my friends. With Mi-"

I busy my hands with another sandwich. Another beer from the ice bucket in the middle of the table. And when I look back TJ is still there, just watching me. Just listening. Just waiting. Blue eyes staring back at me and I think about the career waiting for him. Acting, exposure, chances at more than just a weekly job and I can hear the want in his voice when he talks about it, even though he doesn't show it in his face.

I may not know what he's talking about when he speaks of producers and agents and pilots and production companies, but I understand that feeling. I remember that feeling.

"I wanted to play for the Eagles. I wanted to try it out with the big boys. We both did. And I wasn't willing to let him give up our dream for me.

Posted by: not_thyne (not_thyne)
Posted at: September 29th, 2006 09:38 pm (UTC)

"Impressive," I sigh, because it really is. "Tom Brady impressive."

I've never been able to understand why emotional pain settles in my hands, swells my palms with heat and an unmistakable ache. I once thought it was a sign of my destiny; that as long as I felt that discomfort I was meant to hold a paintbrush and palette. In the end I learned to recognize it for what it was. Sorrow. Empathy.

Rub my hands together to work it out, ease the throbbing back, but to no avail. Feel my cheeks flush with heat because I know the pain comes from feeling David's obvious hurt, from the twist of his mouth and the unguarded sadness in his eyes when he speaks of his life in the past tense -- and because his response reminds me that I never once put another person's dream above my own.

Reminds me that I always walked it off, whatever it was: love, friendship, anger, disappointment. That I never knew with any certainty that someone would give up anything for me because I never gave anyone a chance.

Until I came here.

"So you thought you were doing your lover a favor by cutting him out of your life before he could decide what he wanted," I sigh, reaching for a pepperoncini and another brew. Toss the cap back on the table and feel David watching me. "I wish I could say I didn't get that, but I do. I do."

Suck the sour, spicy juice from the pepper before I pop it in my mouth and settle back against the sofa. "So tell me about your . . .Mi . . .guy. He must have been pretty impressive, too."

Posted by: fallen_angel_db (fallen_angel_db)
Posted at: September 29th, 2006 09:48 pm (UTC)

Posted by: not_thyne (not_thyne)
Posted at: September 29th, 2006 09:48 pm (UTC)

Posted by: fallen_angel_db (fallen_angel_db)
Posted at: September 29th, 2006 09:49 pm (UTC)

Posted by: not_thyne (not_thyne)
Posted at: September 29th, 2006 09:50 pm (UTC)

Posted by: fallen_angel_db (fallen_angel_db)
Posted at: September 29th, 2006 09:51 pm (UTC)

Posted by: not_thyne (not_thyne)
Posted at: September 29th, 2006 09:51 pm (UTC)

Occupation: Asshole.

Qualifications: inherent distrust and soul numbing fear. That’s really what it should say on my resumé.

Wicked, holy, full on fake
Best known for my big mistake. . .

And here we sit, the football player with a busted knee and the blind painter, mortally wounded and waiting. For what? The divine ambulance? For our lives to end, or begin?

Lean forward and take the cigarette from between his fingers and stub it out in the ashtray. Fill my hand with his wrist and pull him to me, and I’m slightly surprised when he doesn’t resist, when he moves with me as I slide down, stretching over me.

Absorb his weight like water in cotton and sigh against him, easing into that now-familiar heat. Feel like I’m stealing comfort, somehow, sliced open by my own sharp tongue and the sadness etched in his brow.

Trace the ghosts of laugh lines around his mouth with a fingertip, bracket his face in my hands and study him, his face . . . Christ help me.

Look into the eyes that still my soul and make my heart race and the blood rush in my veins and no, not just when we are blind and deaf to nothing but the heady power of our bodies together. . .

no, not only then, but in moments like these, when I am struggling to show myself to him, to offer whatever broken pieces of me I have salvaged to give him.

I'm Zen wise, peaceful, gone berserk
Good God almighty, what a piece of work.

My heart rams against my ribcage and I want to say something right, but I don’t know what that is, so I just tell him the truth.

"I'm such an asshole."

Not like he doesn't already know that.

Follow the darkness in his eyes and kiss him gently, seeking permission and forgiveness. Shaking like a teenager beneath him, because this is not a game or a scene or a passing moment. This is new territory, and the only thing that’s keeping me from running is his weight and the taste of him.

And the sound of his voice, the smell of his skin, the whiskey-hot rasp of his laugh. The razor-sharp toenail that he refuses to trim because he thinks it's funny when I bitch about it. The way he looks at me, and sees me. Sees past the hurt and the snark and comes back for more when he should fucking know better.

"I want what you are," I whisper, inhaling his warm breath. Let my kiss speak to him, deep and slow and open. Let it tell him what I can't say.

Posted by: fallen_angel_db (fallen_angel_db)
Posted at: September 29th, 2006 09:52 pm (UTC)

Silk slips against silk. TJ's warm beneath me, his hands are hot and I forget for a moment what it feels like to be cold, to be alone. I could drown in the blue that stares back at me as he holds my head still and I don't know what he's looking for inside me, I don't know if I can offer him anything besides what he sees. But I'm willing to try and perhaps that says more than any spoken word can.

I push against his fingers and sink down into his kiss. The leather creaks under us and his legs spread wide around my hips. I feel my cock swelling as we move together in short, quick, slow, hot grinds. Teeth dragging on lips and tongues and breath that tastes like Molson and Marlboros and marijuana.

I don't move to reach between us. I leave my hands up under his shoulders and let the sensation of kissing him, of his kisses and the heat that flows up from the friction that builds and burns and whispers in the tiny pockets of air where our skin doesn't meet take me right up to the edge.

"I want what you are." ... echoing in my mind, seeping into my blood and pounding through my veins and I am seduced and desired and lost for a moment. My fingers dig into the muscles of his biceps, bruising through his skin.

I'm terrified and I'm exhilarated and I'm breathless and I'm calm. And for once I don't question what is said. I simply accept it as it is offered.

"I want this ... I need you."

Posted by: not_thyne (not_thyne)
Posted at: September 29th, 2006 09:53 pm (UTC)
tj right

Every centimeter of my skin feels new. Every place where skin touches leather burns and pulses like a skinned knee; every place where skin meets skin aches with hunger, as if we’re here for the first time. Sweat pools between my shoulder blades and collects in the small of my back and on the fronts of my thighs, searing and chilling as we move together because we are helpless to do anything else.

How long ago were we collapsed against each other, held up by the cool tile in the shower walls, too exhausted and spent to speak? Leaning together as we washed each others’ whipped and kiss-sawn bodies, easing fingers over rope burns and the raw, bloodied maps of our desire? An hour? Two?

We fucked each other senseless with cocks and fists and tongues, and that was just this morning.

And now I’m awake again, alive and twitching with want so fierce that it makes my teeth ache. Press up into the heat of his cock on my belly, rock into a deliberately slow, sweet pace, savoring his body in three quarter time.

David’s kiss rages through me like some kind of storm, wild and hungry and insatiable and it hurts to break for ragged gulps of air and I want him more than I need to breathe.

Need to feel him inside me, even though I’m bruised and swollen and beyond sore. Turn in his arms, fitting my back against his stomach, his cock hard against the small of my back.

“I can’t get enough of you,” I tell him. “Need you inside, David. Need you. . .can’t fucking stand to have you so far away. . .”

Posted by: fallen_angel_db (fallen_angel_db)
Posted at: September 29th, 2006 10:17 pm (UTC)

Posted by: not_thyne (not_thyne)
Posted at: September 29th, 2006 10:18 pm (UTC)

Posted by: fallen_angel_db (fallen_angel_db)
Posted at: September 29th, 2006 10:18 pm (UTC)

Posted by: not_thyne (not_thyne)
Posted at: September 29th, 2006 10:19 pm (UTC)

Posted by: fallen_angel_db (fallen_angel_db)
Posted at: September 29th, 2006 10:21 pm (UTC)

Posted by: not_thyne (not_thyne)
Posted at: September 29th, 2006 10:22 pm (UTC)

Rise higher and higher, out of my body and let the hush of no-time, no-space absorb me into the blackness. Linger on the edge of a spark and watch it ignite and consume everything in its path, and I tumble from dark to light, thrown back to earth on broken wings.

Come back to myself, empty and hollow and whole. David’s body heat fills me, surrounds me, heavy and welcome and a part of me in ways I can’t express. Bring his glistening fingers to my mouth and suck them clean, taste nicotine and cannabis and spices and my come, swallow it like sustenance and pass it back to him with a kiss. Turning in his embrace, wet and hot and breathless and lost without him inside me. Aching and on the edge. . .

I’ll give you everything you want
Except the thing that you want. . .

Panting past swollen lips, seeking his mouth, his tongue, his essence. Melting through the violence of our release, shaking and sated and barely upright. He slips come-slick palms over my ass and we steer each other to the bed, stumbling and tripping, falling and holding tight. Kissing with eyes wide open. Shallow and light, catching our breath, anchoring each other.

You are the first one of your kind.

Squeeze my eyes shut against the light in his eyes. Close my eyes like a child, as if by not looking I can stop the freefall into this feeling, into this new and frightening place.

And you feel like no-one before
You steal right under my door. . .

I’ve been alone for so goddamn long that I can’t remember what I’m supposed to do next, how I’m supposed to rein myself in and keep my mouth shut, turn my mind off. He’s wounded and shattered and out of faith and so am I, and I should keep this under control because what if. . .

I want the lot of what you got
And I want nothing that you’re not. . .

Light touches trail along my cheeks and I open my eyes, and breathe.

Posted by: fallen_angel_db (fallen_angel_db)
Posted at: September 29th, 2006 10:22 pm (UTC)

"It's okay, it's all right."

Tangled around one another in my bed. The comforter thrown over us in the dark as the fire dies and the light disappears. I pull him closer and touch his face, trace the line of his beard across one cheek with the tip of my tongue and lean back into the dense comfort of the pillows.

Even boneless and liquid and fucked as we are, I can feel the emotional tension roll through him. I shake my head, feel a slight, humorless smile curve my lips.

"It's okay."

I might feel closer to him than I do to anyone else these days. I might trust him more than anyone new I've met so far. But I'm not looking for another partner.

"It's all right."

I might like to watch him wake up when he's fallen asleep in my bed. I might like to draw him when he's completely relaxed and when he's spread and tied. But I like that we each have our own space to hide inside of.

I like feeling as comfortable down in his room as I do in my own. I like listening to him talk and listening to him play and I like sitting with him in silence, reading a book or sketching a thought. But the idea of putting any pressure on the tender silken thread that is growing between us is ... unthinkable. For both of us, I imagine.

Both too hurt and too scared by our pasts and too dead set on staying alone and never making another promise or agreeing to anyone's idea of what is or isn't right for us. But even this illusion, if that's what it is, this dream of having someone that wants the other for more than just sex, for more than just a shield or a pawn or an arm to use as a pillow when whoever else is not available and the thought of sleeping alone is ridiculous ... this tenuous, terrifying significant feeling that I have when I'm with him and I don't want to let go ... it doesn't stop me from saying,

"It'll be all right ... it's gonna be okay."

Posted by: not_thyne (not_thyne)
Posted at: September 29th, 2006 10:23 pm (UTC)

Pushed past every limit, out of every imaginable bit of energy, rag-doll weary in his arms, feeling ready to pass out or maybe just put my head in the porcelain goddess and toss my cookies.

Feel the road calling in the hum of blood in my veins, in the pulsing ache in my fingertips, and if I wasn’t legless I would kiss him and thank him and bless him for wanting me to stay. Get up, say goodbye, and hit the road.

Walk it off.

"It's okay, it's all right."

I know what he’s doing, what he’s saying, and it makes me laugh. The sound of it is false and empty to my ears because it’s not all right and it’s not okay. Not in the least. Because when the morning light shifts and sneaks through the heavy curtains, I will do what I should have done days ago.

I’ll do what I promised myself I would do before blending flour and buttermilk and eggs and sugar and looking into David’s palm and seeing something rare and dangerous and thrilling there. Do it now, before I make my favorite mistake yet again, before I begin to believe that this could be more than sexual bliss, that he has touched me, changed me. Before I believe this might be something else, something far more risky and ruinous.

Before I persuade myself that submitting to his art was more than a sex game. Before I convince myself that his questions about love are more than just curious, polite surveys. Before I imagine I see something more in his eyes when he looks at me, more than a shameless spark of lust and ageless desire. Before I fool myself into believing that I’m different than any one of a dozen men here who’ve shared his body and his bed and his thoughts.

Before I start forgetting what my world was like without him in it.

When I came to this place I had fifteen days to spare. Seven of them are gone, spent in the sweetest rapture of sex and laughter and conversation and music with a singular man of such spellbinding complexity and depth and daring that it will make my heart race – and ache – forever at the memory of the time we’ve shared.

"It'll be all right ... it's gonna be okay."

Like it’s aching right now.

Shake my head, force myself to look into his eyes.

“No, baby. It’s not.” And god forgive me, every word I’ve spoken to him has been true. So I can only continue in these hours that are left. “Because if you don’t clip that fucking toenail you will slice open a vein and I’ll die here. Bleed to death all over these expensive sheets.

“You don’t want that on your conscience, do you, DB?”

Posted by: fallen_angel_db (fallen_angel_db)
Posted at: September 29th, 2006 10:23 pm (UTC)

Posted by: not_thyne (not_thyne)
Posted at: September 29th, 2006 10:26 pm (UTC)

Posted by: not_thyne (not_thyne)
Posted at: September 29th, 2006 10:27 pm (UTC)

Posted by: fallen_angel_db (fallen_angel_db)
Posted at: September 29th, 2006 10:29 pm (UTC)

Posted by: not_thyne (not_thyne)
Posted at: September 29th, 2006 10:30 pm (UTC)

Posted by: fallen_angel_db (fallen_angel_db)
Posted at: September 29th, 2006 10:32 pm (UTC)

Posted by: fallen_angel_db (fallen_angel_db)
Posted at: September 29th, 2006 10:32 pm (UTC)

Posted by: not_thyne (not_thyne)
Posted at: September 29th, 2006 10:33 pm (UTC)

Trembling like a wet dog, shoulders twinging with fire-fed ice and I don’t notice the weight on them until the straps slide from my shoulders and the pack drops to the floor. Slide of nylon and gore-tex against polished wood opening the space between us and I don’t know if it was him or me or both of us, but the burden falls away with a whisper.

Funny what you learn on the fly. That if you lean your head at a certain angle away from your body the tears will fall without hitting your cheeks so you can at least seem somewhat together when you’re forced to turn around and face the truth.

Turn around and face this amazing and messy and beautifully frightening life.

David is almost too close to see, pressed against my back, fingers barely touching my arms, and thank god he’s a wall all his own because I manage to balance myself against him as I turn and I want to answer him, but I can’t coax my voice past the tightness in my throat.

Shake my head no because that’s the answer, no and yes and yes. Cup the back of his head in my hand and lean up to kiss him, kiss him the same way I did the very first time, chaste and gentle and I was shivering then, too, but not like this.

Brows resting together and I pull in a heaving breath and ease into the heat of his arms around my waist. Center myself with another kiss, press my palm against his chest and feel his heart racing.

“I want what you are, David. I want. . . more than I can put words to. I want to show you what I knew in that moment you touched me with that sable brush and you went past my skin and my bones and into me.

“Seven days and I’ve been fighting every single one to stay 300 feet back from you, from getting maimed and destroyed and revisiting parts of my life I’d rather forget because I’m so fucking scared of getting into something I can’t run away from, getting into someone I don’t want to run away from.”

And you feel like no-one before. . .

“Seven days and it’s more than some people ever get in a lifetime. And I couldn’t stand the thought that there wouldn’t be seven more. Seven more hours or days or weeks so I was doing what I have always done. Getting out before I was kicked out.

“I meant what I said in the chapel, David. I want you, and I trust you.

“I trust the openness that you can’t see in yourself. I trust the sweetness in your soul and the sorrow in your heart and I trust your light and your darkness and I trust that you’ll give me what you can.

“But I also trusted the hesitation in your voice, and trusted what I saw when your shields would go up – when we’d get to a moment where we were on the edge and catch ourselves and pull back. Last night? I couldn’t pull back. Didn’t want to. And I figured I was scaring the living shit right out of you because I goddamn well scared myself.

“My problem? Is that I never expect anyone to do what you just did. Because nobody ever does. Never asks me why. Never challenges back and I don’t know why the hell that is. I have no idea what the fuck is wrong with me that it’s taken me all this time to find one person. . .”

Swallow it back. Breathe. Balance. Curl my fingers under his jaw and feel his pulse beneath my fingertips.

“Love’s never the hardest part, baby. It’s the rest of the scary shit that flings out of the heart-shaped piñata that makes it tough and worth living for.”

Posted by: fallen_angel_db (fallen_angel_db)
Posted at: September 29th, 2006 10:34 pm (UTC)

It's been such a long time. Too long since I've felt this connection and who can blame anyone for being gun-shy about it? It's too deep and it's too close and it's right there between us.

It's so rare to find. We touch each other gently. Fingertips and soft kisses. Sweat that tastes like tears and hearts pounding as if we're already making love. As if we're already naked.

I can't believe that in the midst of sharing all of this dead weight and personal pains, we can smile at each other. I can tell this is going to be fun.

I carefully urge TJ backwards to the bed. Not so much that I'm trying to seduce him, but I'm dizzy. I'm still tired. I'm worn out from making a speech that I had to fight with myself over through every word I said. It never gets easy to share and it's so much more tranquil to choose to stay in my room for another year. To head back out on the road for another four months. To maybe go home someday and find a real job. To never speak again to anyone that I fuck. Just ask the right name to call out and please, don't even tell me where you're from ... I don't want to know.


But TJ is looking at me now. His eyes are bright and blue and deep. Our kisses get a little harder and I'm whispering something about pancakes and butter and syrup and the taste of his skin.

By the time we can't move any further back, we're breathing like we've been running. And I still haven't closed my eyes once.

"Stay as long as you can ... stay with me as long as you want ... promise you won't leave me, leave this place without saying goodbye. Promise me, Terrence."

Posted by: not_thyne (not_thyne)
Posted at: September 29th, 2006 10:37 pm (UTC)

My knees have gone to water and shallow tremors in my thighs and back and arms make it nearly impossible to move backward and I feel like a broken toy, disjointed and sprung. I manage to step backward without tripping over my feet. I’m out of breath, tired and thirsty and I can’t be bothered to reach for the phone or the goddamn Jeeves bell because I can live without ever taking another drink. But I can’t live without this touch, this kiss. His scent. The color of his eyes. The beat of his heart beneath my lips and hands.

Drop to the bed as I kick my running shoes off, pull David with me. Kiss each other slowly, in that drowsy-drunk way that old lovers have as they sink into late night kisses after long, hard days. Trace the planes of his cheeks with my fingers, follow the crescent of darkness beneath his eyes and realize that even when he’s exhausted he’s still so alive, still so beautiful.

“I promise, David. I’ll never leave you without telling you goodbye.”

The words slice me open and shock me and I know I’m pulling back because I’ve never been asked, and never made a promise like this before. And I can’t bear to think of goodbyes, no more now than I could bear it thirty minutes ago when I left David’s bed and cried like a fucking girl while I packed up my things.

“I spent seven years trying to become an artist. Went to three different art schools because my family paid hefty bags of cash to keep me from being kicked out. Spent a year basically fucking for rent money because not only could I not sell a painting, I had absolutely no talent at all. Which you know.”

David bites his lip and smiles, leans back and listens, holding my hand against his chest.

“When I finally figured out I was not going to be the next Pollock or, shit, even the next Thomas fucking Kincaid, I had five bucks to my name and had fucked every connection dry. So I called my father. And in exchange for two years of indentured servitude, he agreed to give me a third of my inheritance, free and clear, no questions asked.

“He asked me to run one of his businesses and put it into the black, and I did. It was a really great little company, called Streamlight. We lit art galleries, private homes, cool shit like that. That’s where I met Marcus.

“We dated, fell in love and moved in together, but I knew that after my two years was up I wanted out of Boston, away from Provincetown and my family and their fucking taint on my soul. Hell, I took the money, and when the old bastard dies I’ll take what he leaves me. I just don’t like them, I certainly don’t love them, and I hate Boston with a fucking passion. Meantown.

“Marcus knew we had a year before I’d need to leave. I never kept it from him or told him anything else. And when the time came, he asked me to stay with him because he liked living there and didn’t want to leave the community. He thought I was going through a phase or some such shit and I’d come to my senses once I didn’t have to run Streamlight.

“He didn’t understand why I couldn’t stay, never got what I went through that year on the Cape, what I gave up, what I sold. So on the day I ended my slavery, I walked out of his life. Damn near killed me, but it killed me more to think he refused to believe the truth of who I was, what I needed.”

Slide out of my jeans and pull my socks off, and David lifts his ass up and pulls the covers out from beneath him. We scoot under the covers together, and I yawn and shiver and he picks it up from me. Wets his lips and kisses me noisily, and I want him so goddamn much. . .

But he needs to hear this before we make love.

Posted by: not_thyne (not_thyne)
Posted at: September 29th, 2006 10:37 pm (UTC)

Posted by: fallen_angel_db (fallen_angel_db)
Posted at: September 29th, 2006 10:43 pm (UTC)

Posted by: not_thyne (not_thyne)
Posted at: September 29th, 2006 10:43 pm (UTC)

Posted by: fallen_angel_db (fallen_angel_db)
Posted at: September 29th, 2006 10:44 pm (UTC)

Posted by: not_thyne (not_thyne)
Posted at: September 29th, 2006 10:45 pm (UTC)

Posted by: fallen_angel_db (fallen_angel_db)
Posted at: September 29th, 2006 10:46 pm (UTC)

Posted by: not_thyne (not_thyne)
Posted at: September 29th, 2006 10:46 pm (UTC)

Posted by: fallen_angel_db (fallen_angel_db)
Posted at: September 29th, 2006 10:47 pm (UTC)

Posted by: not_thyne (not_thyne)
Posted at: September 29th, 2006 10:47 pm (UTC)

Posted by: fallen_angel_db (fallen_angel_db)
Posted at: September 29th, 2006 10:48 pm (UTC)

Posted by: not_thyne (not_thyne)
Posted at: September 29th, 2006 10:49 pm (UTC)

Posted by: fallen_angel_db (fallen_angel_db)
Posted at: September 29th, 2006 10:50 pm (UTC)

Posted by: not_thyne (not_thyne)
Posted at: September 29th, 2006 10:50 pm (UTC)

Posted by: fallen_angel_db (fallen_angel_db)
Posted at: September 29th, 2006 10:51 pm (UTC)

Posted by: not_thyne (not_thyne)
Posted at: September 29th, 2006 10:52 pm (UTC)
tj right

He moans when I fist my fingers tighter in his hair, pulling his head back and exposing the long stretch of his throat. Watch the flush rise from his shoulders, seep up along the cords in his neck. Watch him swallow, hard and deep, and can’t resist biting his chin. Trail down over his throat, my tongue burning over stubble, relishing that his taste … so familiar and intoxicating.

He lifts his hips and squirms against my hand, and I slip out slowly, watch him swallow hard and open his mouth in a wordless protest. Can’t take my eyes off his face, away from his eyes. Feel the energy building at the base of his spine, swirl it with knowing fingers and wonder what he knows about tantra, about holding and building, and coming over and over and over … and again.

That’s for another day. For now, I circle and press, follow his heartbeat against my fingertips, keep his eyes locked to mine as I pull out of him, feel him snap like an elastic band over the tip of my index finger.

Bring my hand up to his face, trace his lips with the moisture from deep inside his body – my spit, his sweat – his essence. Press my fingertip between his teeth, against his greedy tongue.

“I love the way you taste,” I whisper.

Posted by: fallen_angel_db (fallen_angel_db)
Posted at: September 29th, 2006 10:52 pm (UTC)
half david

"Don't fuck with me TJ."

My teeth snap at his finger and I roll us. Him on his back and my thigh between his knees. Trace of a smile on my face and my hand moves up to my mouth. I lick my index finger and leave it wet, slide it down over the muscles of his chest to his cock, to his balls, to behind there. Tease over his opening for just a moment and then in. Inside of the heat and the clench and the burn.

"Don't expect me to lie still for you without chains of one sort or the other. I'm not a toy."

I return the favor. Trace his lips with my tongue, brush over the soft curls of his beard and my cock presses into his abdomen. Blood pounding inside me.

"I am lust and fire and pain and temptation. I am nothing good and everything bad and I will have what I want, no matter what the price."

I curl my finger inside him, reach up and rub over the hard knot just there.

"Want me? Then fucking take me."

Posted by: not_thyne (not_thyne)
Posted at: September 29th, 2006 10:53 pm (UTC)
tj right

Day blackens to night in the space of a single heartbeat.

Breath pushed from my lungs as David flips me on my back, his face flushed with fury and need. Every single inch of my body is steel-hard, pulsing, reflecting his anger and desperation back through him, my own blood tart and metallic in my throat.

Buck against the delicious pressure of his finger inside me, touching and twisting and seeking. Snap my hips, hard, draw my knees up and clench them hard around his waist. Take a breath from deep in my belly and roll us both back, moan as his touch shifts inside and sparks starbursts of color behind my eyelids. My cock is on fire, ready to burst and I rock my hips against his, hard.

“Be careful, David,” I warn, slipping my hands up to pin his wrists above his head. “I want all of it. All of you, and I don’t care what I have to do to get it.”

Let his hands go, slide down his chest, mouth open and wet and so fucking overcome with need that I don’t even hear myself as I slurp down over his cock, lick the sweet flesh behind his balls.

“I will have you. I will fucking own you.”

Posted by: fallen_angel_db (fallen_angel_db)
Posted at: September 29th, 2006 10:54 pm (UTC)

Posted by: not_thyne (not_thyne)
Posted at: September 29th, 2006 10:54 pm (UTC)

Posted by: fallen_angel_db (fallen_angel_db)
Posted at: September 29th, 2006 10:59 pm (UTC)

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