This was the second time this man had denied James the use of his hands during sex, denied him the pleasure of touching his partner, denied him an outlet for his need. Kept him on the edge, kept him wanting, kept him in a haze of passion and desire. James moaned and tugged harder on his arms, thrilled by the helplessness of his position.
But guttural, needy moans and pain/pleasure filled screams weren't enough for his lover.
"Say it for me, baby. Tell me to whom you belong. Say it. Say it!” Despite his demand, Bram made it impossible for James to respond, sealing their mouths tightly together in a devastating, consuming kiss that left them both gasping and flushed when he finally broke away.
Hand still milking his lover's cock mercilessly, Bram rolled his forehead against James’ sweat covered brow and harshly whispered, “Say it, baby, say it. For me."
Swallowing hard to relieve the burning dryness in his throat, James gasped into the sweaty mass of honey-blond hair hanging down in his face. “Any time. Any way. Yours."
Gritting his teeth against the dual sensation of raw burning and fiery ecstasy Bram was creating at his abused groin, James closed his eyes and moaned, then begged. “Please!"
His eyes popped open when the rough, gritty sheath around his cock suddenly disappeared then turned into a satin lined fist and the strong smell of garlic filled the already spice-laden air. The abrupt change in sensation sent James reeling as his lover ruthlessly pumped, massaged and squeezed his newly slicked erection.
"Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck!” His climax raced to the edge of near-eruption and hung there, sizzling down his nerve endings, but never setting off the major explosion.
"My baby needs more, doesn't he? I'll give you what you need. Come for me, baby, now.” Bram tongued one of the healing brick-and-mortar abrasions on James’ chest, then latched onto a taut, rosy nipple with his teeth, biting lightly and flicking the peak with his tongue.
James screamed, his climax spiking along with the warm burn of pain. He went rigid as fire swept through his body. Bram took no pity on him, milking his erupting cock until it was limp and James was shuddering and groaning with each new stroke.
"That's it. That's the way I like it, baby. Shake for me. Show me what I do to you. Show me.” Bram sighed into James’ neck, gathering the still shuddering man into his arms. Not waiting for James to recover even the power of speech, Bram unhooked the bag from the faucet handle and stood, pulling James’ limp and unresisting body with him.
Still deeply buried in a euphoric, sex-induced stupor, James didn't object when his arms and chest were draped over Bram's shoulder. “Bram?"
"Don't worry, lover. I just thought it was about time we took this to a bed.” Bram lifted James’ slight weight, balancing the man on one shoulder, grabbed the open bottle of wine and left the room.
Startled, James grunted and grabbed at Bram's sides. “Hey, put me down!"
Laughing, Bram jogged up the stairs to the second story of the house. “Uh-huh. This is my caveman ritual. Get used to it, baby."
"Bastard.” James grunted at each jostling step. “And you can kiss my ass, Caveman."
Bram brushed his hand over the taut, bare globes by his head, then planted a loud, wet kiss on the bruise spreading over the ass cheek nearest to him. He ignored James’ indignant yelp.
"Anything you want, baby. Just ask."
Ms. Gardner would like to thank Steve Hays, whose speech, “The Enemies of Eros in Antiquity,” she discovered while doing research on the Internet. Though not quoted verbatim, it provided valuable inspiration and authenticity for the dialogue and classroom commentary of Dr. Anton MacDonnough.Gift of Eros
* * * *
Kimberly Gardner
Gift of Eros
"The classical cannon of Greek and Latin literature does not treat Eros with particular reverence.” Professor Anton MacDonnough stepped out from behind his podium. He paced across the front of the classroom, his eyes alighting first on one student, then another. “In fact, any sensible reader will come away from a careful reading of the ancient texts with the clear impression that, rather than a god to be adored, we would do better to treat Eros as...” Here he paused for effect, “Frankly, a psychopath."
Laughter rippled through the room. MacDonnough smiled. Val sighed.
Of course he'd heard this line before in Mac's other lectures over the last four years. Mac had been his faculty advisor since his freshman year, and was now advising on the writing of Val's senior thesis. Mac always delivered the psychopath line in that exact cadence, always paused at that exact place and always smiled when the students laughed.
Just like he was smiling now.
Val sketched a stickman in the margin of his notebook; a sleeping stickman.
What the hell was he doing here anyway? He should have taken a class where he might have actually learned something to make up the three literature credits he needed to graduate. Instead, he'd let Mac talk him into this class, an intro course made up mostly of freshmen and sophomores, on the role of gods and monsters in ancient literature.
A total snoozer, but three easy credits for his final semester.
Val slid his gaze to the left and eyed the little hottie sitting at the next desk over. Dark hair pulled back in a stubby tail, skin so smooth it looked like he couldn't grow a beard and a face prettier than three quarters of the girls in the class. Not that Val was into girls. He hadn't even thought about girls that way since that day in junior high when Rickie Garcia had given him his very first blowjob behind the bleachers after gym class.
The little hottie slumped in his chair and yawned hugely without even covering his mouth.
Val smiled. He sketched a bed for his stickman, then he drew a yawning mouth as Mac droned on.
"Let's talk about the Iliad for a moment, and the coming together of those legendary lovers, Helen and Paris.” He paused and lifted a hand to his ear. “Ah yes, I can hear the dreamy sighs even now."
A few of the students laughed.
"But set aside, if you will, our modern view of a magical and romantic Eros. Instead, try seeing him as a destructive force that feeds off the lust and weakness of the lovers."
Val glanced up from his doodling, his gaze locking with the hottie in the next desk. The greenest eyes Val had ever seen watched him intently. A tongue slipped out to wet full lips.
Val's prick stirred. He dropped his gaze back to his notebook. With a few strokes of his pen he gave his stickman a raging hard-on, then a hand to wrap around it.
Oh, he was so going to fuck, or be fucked by, Green Eyes before this semester, and maybe even this day, was over.
From the corner of his eye he saw a slender hand. It reached across the space between the desks, dropped something on Val's notebook, then retreated. A scrap of paper. Val picked it up, unfolded it, and read.
What are you doing after class?
Hopefully getting your cock up my ass, or down my throat, Val thought. Whatever you want, baby.
He was supposed to be going to a wine and cheese reception in the classics department, had promised Mac he would go. But...
Picking up his pen, Val scribbled his reply.
Wait for me outside.
Refolding the paper, Val flipped it across the narrow space between the desks. It skidded across the surface and was caught just before drifting to the floor.
Val watched as the note was unfolded and read. Green eyes lifted to meet his and the kid gave an almost imperceptible nod.
Oh yeah!
The stickman began jacking as Val wove a little fantasy starring slim hands and big green eyes and a long, thick cock. Of course, by the look of him, the guy was probably a bottom. No big deal. Even though he would rather get fucked than do the fucking, he could be flexible.
To his cartoon he added a balloon coming out of Sticky's mouth. In it he wrote, “uh, uh, uh, aaaaaahhhh!"
Oh yeah, for this he could be as flexible as need be.
For the next half hour, Val occupied himse
lf by sneaking sideways glances at his future hook-up. The hottie wore a baggy T-shirt with some sort of faded image on the front and long sleeves pushed up to reveal sinewy forearms lightly dusted with dark hair. Graceful hands toyed with a pen, long fingers idly stroking the shaft and—no, that part of a pen was called the barrel, not the shaft.
Was he even conscious of what he was doing? Or were those actions nothing more than the fidgeting of bored hands?
In an attempt to accommodate his growing erection, Val shifted in his seat. The chair creaked and the hottie looked up.
Oh, he knew what he was doing all right. The curve of that beautiful mouth and the wicked gleam in his eyes made that perfectly clear.
"Next time we'll pick up with Helen and Paris.” Mac paused, his gaze settling on Val. “I hope to see many of you at the wine and cheese reception sponsored by the department."
"When is it?” A girl with short brown hair lifted her backpack and slung it over her shoulder.
"It starts at five, which gives you...” Mac looked at his watch, “...fifteen minutes."
Val flipped his notebook closed and clipped his pen to the cover. Glancing sideways, his eyes met those of his hottie. Val swore he felt the spark jump between them. As casually as he could, he tugged his sweatshirt down as he got to his feet. His prick, which had never gone entirely soft since they'd first made eye contact, was now a very noticeable bulge in his jeans.
"Val, can I see you a moment?” From where he stood amidst a clutch of students, Mac crooked a finger at him.
Val nodded and sat down to wait for Mac.
His hottie was already halfway to the door.
Mmm, nice ass.
Gradually, the classroom emptied, students drifting away in twos and threes. But the group surrounding Mac never seemed to get smaller. One person would leave only to be replaced by another.
C'mon. Val tapped his foot. He did not intend to miss his hook-up with Green Eyes.
After ten seemingly endless minutes, Mac shooed away the last of the students and walked to where Val waited. “Sorry about that.” He smiled at Val and held out a book. “I brought that book you and I were talking about the other day."
What book?
Val took it. “Thanks."
"I hope it's helpful.” Mac was looking at him, one salt-and-pepper brow lifted.
Val glanced down at the book in his hand. The Path of Eros: Passion and Despair in Classical Mythology. “I'm sure it will be."
"Good.” Mac paused. “If you can wait a few minutes more, I'll collect my belongings and we can walk to the reception together.” He smiled. “I hope you have your ID with you. The dean is quite adamant about no underage students being served alcohol."
"Actually, I need to make a stop before I head over to the reception.” Val stuck the book in his backpack. “So maybe I'll just see you there."
The hallway outside the classroom was mostly deserted except for a few stragglers; none of them was his green-eyed hottie.
Damn.
Val took his time descending the two flights of stairs that would take him to the front entrance of the classroom building. All the while he kept an eye out for his hook-up. Pushing open the outer door, he stepped outside. The February wind kissed his cheeks and slid chilly fingers inside his jacket. He shivered. He searched the faces of the students who chatted and milled around despite the cold. No hottie.
Shit.
Well, it wasn't like he'd never see the guy again. They were in class together, so that was something. Consoling himself with the promise of other chances on other days, Val hefted his backpack and turned down the path that would take him to the classics department building, and the wine and cheese reception.
* * * *
"But Dr. MacDonnough, Odysseus was ruled by Eros. He even fought off a goddess's affections to return to his wife. I think that's very romantic."
Mac caught Val's eye as the girl from the Gods and Monsters class, the one with the short brown hair who always sat in the front row, continued to argue her point. Mac's eye-roll was anything but subtle.
Val hid his grin in his glass of chardonnay. Even as he did, a part of him pitied the girl who was about to be ridiculed. She seemed so earnest. Mac could be a real prick when he thought you were talking out your ass, which happened most often when you weren't agreeing with him.
"Hey, are you really drinking that shit or just being polite?"
A prickle of awareness raced down Val's spine and straight to his dick. Even though the soft male voice was unfamiliar, he knew who it belonged to before he turned around. His green-eyed hottie stood just behind him, close enough to touch, a small smile playing around his lips.
Standing like this, the two of them were nearly eye-to-eye, the other man maybe an inch taller than Val's five-feet-nine. Perfect.
Val let his gaze slide down that slender body. The baggy shirt—the faded image on the front was Bob Dylan, he now realized—did nothing to conceal the whip-cord leanness of his form. Yet he wasn't skinny, not at all. He had the arms and shoulders of someone who worked out regularly and was no wuss when it came to the bench-press. Those arms would feel just right around him.
"So, are you?"
Tearing his gaze and his thoughts away from his lithe form, Val met those amazing green eyes. “Am I what?"
"Drinking that cheap-shit chardonnay."
"Not really.” Using his body as a shield, Val flicked the other man's nipple, only just visible through his t-shirt. “Why, you want some, Dylan?"
Green eyes flashed. “How'd you know my name?"
"Your name's really Dylan? Like Bob?"
"Just like. Mom was a huge fan. I am too.” Taking the glass from Val's fingers, Dylan turned it so his lips touched exactly where Val's had and sipped. He scrunched up his face and, without asking, turned and dumped the rest of the wine into the dirt of a nearby potted ficus tree. Setting the empty glass aside, he held out his hand.
"Let's get out of here."
Val glanced around, then down at the hand held out so invitingly. No one seemed to be paying them any attention.
"Okay.” Sliding his hand into Dylan's, Val let himself be led out of the department and down the nearly deserted corridor.
"What's your name?"
"Val.” The hand was so warm, long fingers twined with his so possessively, he could hardly wait to feel those hands on other, more intimate parts of his body.
"Like Valentine?"
"No, like Valentin. I was named after my grandfather."
"Yeah?” Val was treated to a heart-stopping grin. “Was grandpop a beautiful blondie, too?"
Val returned the grin. “Nope. He was dark and swarthy, from what I remember, and built like a fire hydrant."
In fact no one in his family possessed either blond hair or blue eyes. As for his willowy slimness, where that had come from was also anybody's guess. His mother, to this day, still called him her little changeling babe.
Val's hand was squeezed. “Well, I like your looks, Valentine."
It was nearly dark when they emerged from the classics building, lights coming on all over campus, and the wind had picked up. Val shivered, though whether from the cold or anticipation he couldn't say.
"Let's go this way.” Dylan tugged him to the right.
"Where—"
"Do you live on campus?"
"No, I share a house with some guys just the other side of City Avenue."
"That's kind of far."
They passed the utilities management building, then a series of sheds that were little more than cinderblock huts used for storage. Without warning, Dylan veered off the path and turned down a narrow alley, dragging Val with him.
Pausing before one of the sheds, he shoved open the door, yanked Val inside and behind a pallet stacked nearly to the ceiling with boxes.
"Hey, man, what are you—uh!” Val was shoved hard against the wall, trapped against the chilly cinderblock by the press of Dylan's lean body. Slender hands framed his fa
ce, fingers spearing into his hair.
"I can't wait that long.” Dylan's breath fanned over Val's lips. “Gonna fuck you right here, my pretty Valentine."
"My name's not—” Dylan's lips slammed down on Val's, cutting off the words, stealing his breath. His lips were forced apart by the tongue that invaded his mouth. Pinned in place by hands and lips and body, Val was helpless to do anything but kiss Dylan back.
Dylan's hands left Val's face and insinuated themselves between their bodies. Long fingers jerked open the button of Val's jeans while the other hand unzipped his jacket and rucked up his sweatshirt. Fingers pinched his nipple, sending an electric shock of sensation straight to his prick.
Val gasped into Dylan's mouth.
The cold, rough brick scraped against his back as the kiss went on and on. His jeans were shoved down his hips, the chill extending to his ass as his dick sprang free.
"You smell so good, baby.” Val's cock was grasped and lightly squeezed, Dylan's thumb swiping the head. “You want this, don't you?” Clever fingers rolled his balls. “Say you want it, or I'll stop."
Val gripped Dylan's shoulders for balance while only yards away on the other side of the door the business of the college went on unaware.
He won't stop, no matter what I say.
The thought that his choice could be taken away in the blink of an eye thrilled him, even if it was just an illusion.
"Say it.” Releasing Val's cock and balls, Dylan crushed their bodies together. The ridge of his denim-clad erection rubbed against Val's naked prick.
"I want it.” A hand slid around behind him and a finger pressed against his entrance. He gasped.
"Like this? You want my finger?"
Val shook his head. “Not like that. Your cock. I want your cock up my ass. Please?"
In the space of a heartbeat, Val found himself spun around and facing the wall, hands gripping his hips. Lips brushed his ear.
The Ties That Bind Page 9