Otaare

by Alessandra Ebulu

  Bola's face that had at the moment curved up into a smile. Those dimples danced. Plus, he'd shaved recently, his hair practically nonexistent, and his barber had shaped the front of his hair, leaving a lean, long, barely-there sideburn that stretched up and formed a perfect arch to join his hairline.

  He had on twin studs in his ears and they twinkled. Knowing Bola, he was fairly sure those were diamonds and not zirconia.

  "Hi."

  The word was low. Sultry. And it sent a zing up Ukeme's spine, even worse than the other times he'd spoken to Bola. Worse than the zing he'd felt this morning when Bola had called him to ask him out. Maybe it was the acoustics in the place. But he thought it had to do with Bola. And the look he had in his eyes. Those eyes that travelled up his body, mentally taking off the blue jeans, black t-shirt, and cream sweater he'd tossed on to keep away the cold that had settled on Lagos this morning.

  He knew he looked good. Eze had confirmed it, amidst laughing at how he'd been going on about being well-dressed.

  But shit. Bola looked at him like he was dessert splayed on a table, ready to be devoured.

  "Hi," Ukeme said. He smiled and Bola smiled back and there they stood smiling at each other like total loons.

  The thought made him chuckle and Bola's smile widened—how the hell did he do that? "What's funny?" Bola asked.

  He rose from his seat, and he gestured as Ukeme glanced at Bola. When he'd stepped in, he'd assumed it was a round table. Like the ones outside.

  He was wrong. Bola was sitting at a booth, and he was gesturing at the space right beside him. A space that would align their thighs together and have them brushing against each other throughout the meal.

  Ukeme swallowed and walked to the seat. The walk went by pretty fast, and in seconds, he was sliding into the booth and just like he'd figured, they sat, thigh-to-thigh—though his were longer than Bola's—breathing each other in.

  "Did you find here okay?" Bola asked as he poured Ukeme a glass of wine. Red, most likely. Not like Ukeme had had different brands of wine to be able to identify all the types, but he could always tell when it was red wine. The woodsy smell was a dead giveaway.

  Bola extended the glass to Ukeme and Ukeme accepted it. "I took a cab." He took a sip and the flavour exploded on his tongue. He moaned and heard Bola's breath hitch.

  He hid his smile in the gulp he took, let the wine stay in his mouth for a moment, rolled it around in his mouth and then swallowed. "This is good," he said.

  Silence. If not that he could feel Bola's thigh right beside his, could feel the heat generating from his body, could hear him breathing in their insulated room, he would have thought Bola wasn't there.

  Finally, a cough, and then Bola spoke. "I wasn't sure if you liked reds, and figured even if you didn't, a Pinot Noir would give just the sweetness you need to enjoy it."

  Ukeme nodded, even though he had no idea what the fuck Bola was saying. All he knew was that the wine tasted amazing. He took a couple more sips and reluctantly laid the glass back on the table.

  His reluctance must have shown, because Bola chuckled and then said, "You know you can have as much as you want, right? I'll just order up more bottles."

  "If I didn't know better, I would have said you're trying to seduce me or something," Ukeme teased. "Get me drunk and pliable."

  The words came out and brought with it another bout of silence. Ukeme reached for his wine and gulped down the rest of the contents of the glass. Trust his big mouth. Flirting when he knew Bola had said not too long ago that he had no interest in fucking him. What the fuck was wrong with him and his damn big mouth? It must be the place, the vibes he was getting that maybe Bola was not as straight as he thought. And even if he was straight, he didn't think he was homophobic. At least he hoped not.

  Ukeme shook his head. “Let's pretend I didn't say that.” He smiled, and hoped to hell it look wry. “After all, you did say you would fuck me only over your dead body.”

  He expected a laugh and for those eyes to turn cool. But then he heard Bola's breath hitch and then Bola murmured. “I didn't mean that, you know. I just said it because I was angry.”

  The expression in his eyes made Ukeme gulp. He reached for the bottle, but then slender fingers wrapped around his, and pulled his hands away from the bottle. His pulse was racing a mile a minute, and he was sure Bola would have been able to feel it. Bola said nothing though, just stroked the spot over his pulse points. Light strokes that electrified him with each contact.

  "Fuck," he hissed through his teeth.

  "I will be quite happy to grant that," that low, smoky voice said.

  Those were the magic words that Ukeme had been hoping to hear since he'd first laid eyes on Bola Johnson, when he had been moving that fine ass on the screen in his first music video. But still, he hadn't lost all his self-respect. "Will you now," Ukeme teased.

  "Yes. I really…" Bola tugged him closer and he could see those lips drawing even closer to his. "Really…" A smaller nudge, and there were in the same space, sharing a breath, but their lips had still not made contact. "Want to fuck you."

  At the 'you', Ukeme wasn't sure who surged forward first. Him? Bola? It didn't matter, because their mouths connected and immediately, Bola opened his mouth with a moan and Ukeme slid his tongue in. He swept through the crevice, sliding over Bola's gums, sliding against Bola's tongue. Bola's second hand went around his head and he pulled Bola off his seat to sit right on his lap.

  His cock perked up at the contact, shooting right up to poke Bola's ass. Bola groaned and Ukeme bent Bola's backwards, connecting his back to the couch as he delved even deeper into the kiss.

  Fuck, he wanted to get on top of him. Hump against him with clothes on. Then with clothes off. And then fuck him all night till morning. And try another fucking session before either of them had to leave the house in the morning.

  A cleared throat had them snapping right back to their senses and Ukeme rushed to put his clothes to right, blushing as he met the amused gaze of the waiter. Luckily, the man didn't say anything or make any sounds. He just stood there as he handed them their menus and waited to take their order.

  "Continental or local," Bola said as he flipped through the menu.

  The man didn't even look flustered, like he hadn't just been trying to suck Ukeme's tongue deep down his throat. How the hell did he do it?

  Bola looked up from the menu and right there, those brown eyes danced, those firm lips curved into a smile and he got another peek at those dimples. And the semblance of an order that had been popping into his mind was gone.

  He was a goner.

  Bola's smile widened. "Maybe I should order for the both of us, then."

  Ukeme thought he nodded. He wasn't really sure. He could hear a buzzing in his head and his eyes were narrowed on Bola's face.

  But he must have nodded, because Bola turned to the waiter, who had popped out a notepad and a pen, and he began to reel out. "A wrap of pounded yam each, with one plate of egusi soup and one plate of ogbono. Put in lots of stock fish, beef, pomo, and…" He turned to Ukeme. "Do you like bokoto?" Ukeme nodded, and he turned back to the waiter. "And bokoto."

  He handed the menu back with a smile, and the waiter left with the same speed and silence he'd used to enter. The door closed behind the man with a finality, and Ukeme's eyes immediately went back to Bola, slid down to those lips and right back to Bola's eyes.

  Bola refilled their glasses and brought his glass to his lips and took a sip. "Why do you write?"

  The question was so innocuous, held up to what they'd just been doing, what he hoped they would be doing that he chuckled.

  Bola must have gotten why he was laughing, because he laughed along with him.

  "Because I liked telling stories," Ukeme said. "I liked giving voice to characters who, like me, rarely ever had the chance to speak."

  "You were a shy kid?" Bola asked, sounding disbelieving.

  Ukeme smiled. "You wouldn't believe it now, would you?" />
  "That the guy who took me to task on social media could have at some point in his life been a docile kid," Bola said. "It's unbelievable. Some might even say miraculous."

  "They would be right," Ukeme said. He leaned back in the booth and his hands sought and found Bola's fingers.

  "What changed?" Bola curled his fingers around Ukeme's.

  "A friend was in the wrong place at the wrong time." His fingers tightened around Bola's and he tried to keep his voice controlled. Shit. Fifteen years later and the memory still hurt. "Some actress was driving drunk. She made her apologies, spent a month under house arrest, and the law and society said she'd paid her dues, when it should have been at least a year or two in jail. And all because she had money." The words sounded bitter. As bitter as he felt. "Like that would ever bring him back."

  The fingers tightened. "I'm sorry."

  "For what? You weren't the one speeding down the road without watching where you were going," Ukeme said.

  "True. But it doesn't mean it's not a tragedy. I'm sorry you lost your friend," Bola said.

  Ukeme reached for his glass and gulped down half the wine. The sweet taste he'd initially loved when he'd gotten a taste now tasted sour.

  "That's why you were so angry," Bola continued. "You thought here came another rich boy trying to run all over you, take advantage, and get away with it because he was rich."

  "That, and my parents are quite fond of remembering the atrocities oil spillage has caused in our village," Ukeme said.

  There was another pause, like Bola didn't know what to say to that. "I don't think you're your father," Ukeme said. He turned to look at Bola. Really look at the man. Those brown eyes had softened. They looked so sorrowful, and he was, at the moment, biting into his lower lip, looking as worried as one could be. "You're not your father."

  "I'm my father's son," Bola said, and his eyes went down, his chin dipped.

  Ukeme reached out and raised that chin so those eyes were meeting his. "But you're different. Your father wouldn't have called me to try and make up."

  "He would have been as angry and proud as I felt, and he would have lashed out when things didn't go right," Bola mumbled.

  "But he wouldn't have come along, dragged by his younger sister to make things right." Bola made to say something, but Ukeme continued. "He also wouldn't have invited me to dinner." Bola still looked unconvinced, so Ukeme added. "He wouldn't have had his tongue so down my throat, I felt it all the way down to my toes."

  That worked. Bola's mouth twitched. Once. Twice. Then he burst out laughing, looking tickled. Ukeme chuckled right along with him. "I'm not guaranteeing that shit might not happen to mess things up," he said. "No matter what happens, I know you're not your father."

  "Thank you," Bola said.

  Minutes later, the waiter opened the door and two young women came in, carrying trays with covered bowls on them. They set the dishes on the table, bowed, and left. The waiter stepped forward and removed the covers with a flourish.

  Right there was the thick, heavy consistency of the ogbono soup, swimming with chunks of meat and fish. The egusi looked just as good with the vegetables, the bright yellow melon seeds and the chunks of chicken, fish, and meat. That with the rounded globes of pounded yam, and Ukeme wanted to pounce on the meal.

  He heard someone chuckling and glared at Bola. "Not funny."

  "You should have seen your face," Bola said as he waved the waiter to indicate that he can leave. The minute the door closed, he moved closer and whispered against Ukeme's ears. "Besides, the only thing I want you looking at like that tonight is me."

  Ukeme shivered, but still managed to whisper right back. "Trust me. Tonight, you'll have my undivided attention."

  Heat flared in Bola's eyes and Ukeme was sure the same thing was reflected in his as well. But his stomach took that moment to grumble. "Tonight," he promised, and reached for the bowl of water the waiter had left beside the dishes.

  "Not going to use a fork and knife," he heard Bola say in a teasing voice.

  He made exaggerated motions as he dipped his hands in the water, swirled his hands around, curled his hands around the mound of pounded yam, pulled off a bit, swirled it in the ogbono, and tossed it back into his mouth. It slid down his throat in one smooth motion and he groaned.

  "Damn, your gag reflex is impressive," Bola said with his eyes on Ukeme's throat.

  "You have no idea," Ukeme said and winked.

  Bola gave a strangled sound, reached for the bottle of Eva water and chugged down half of its content. He reached for the fork and knife, cut a bit of pounded yam, and smeared some egusi on it. He followed it with a chunk of meat, which he chewed quite enthusiastically.

  "In a hurry," Ukeme teased.

  Bola slid him a look. "You wouldn't be if you were with me?"

  From there it was a race to see how fast they could finish their meal and get to the anticipated part of the night.

  *~*~*

  His back hit the door with a thump, but he didn't feel it. Someone could have set his feet on fire and he wouldn't have felt that, either. How could he, when Ukeme's mouth was fastened over his throat, sucking hard, like someone had told him that the secret of life was buried there?

  A hot tongue swiped over his pulse point, and he moaned.

  The sound had Ukeme pulling away, and just as he made a moan of protest, that mouth covered his, and a warm tongue was sliding into his mouth as Ukeme kissed him.

  Fuck.

  The door closed behind them with a thump, and Ukeme holstered him against the door and started to grind. A quick swivel that had Bola grinding against him, searching for some sort of contact.

  Ukeme wasn't having that, though. He held up both of Bola's hands against the wall and pushed forward to keep Bola from moving. Bola even tried humping against those hips, but no dice.

  "I need…" He gasped as Ukeme ran his teeth over the edge of his ear, just as quick fingers worked on his belt.

  He felt cool hands clutch the edge of his hips, with no clothes separating the heat, and he nearly wept.

  Ukeme trailed one long finger over first one hipbone, then the other. Those fingers danced close to that happy trail to where his cock met skin. But no dice. They kept moving, no matter how much he tried bringing them closer to his cock, and he growled. "Put. Your. Hand. On. My. Cock. Now."

  "Well, aren't you very articulate?"

  If not that those words had come from a pair of lips he was dying to taste, lips he was dying to have wrapped around said cock, he would have told the fucker to go fuck himself. "And for a writer, you spend too much time dilly-dallying. Get straight to the damn point."

  "I'm waiting to get inspired," he heard Ukeme say.

  That was it.

  He pushed back, and felt Ukeme laugh as he pulled away. Fast as he could, he shimmied out of his jeans, leaving his boxer shorts in its place. He heard Ukeme's breath catch and grinned.

  His T-shirt was gone as fast as he could pull it off and when that was done, he reached for Ukeme and started working on the man's shirt. "We can take our time at another time," he said, in-between Ukeme's distracting nips across his collarbone. "Right now. Just fuck me. Tomorrow, we'll go slow."

  "Fast?" The word rumbled out in a laugh and he opened dazed eyes to see the mischievous light in Ukeme's eyes. Shit. This wasn't going to be fast, was it? "Why would you settle for fast…" Ukeme walked till he backed him up against a wall "…When we have all night long?" Fingers mapped his hipbone, slid their way on the underside of his thigh till they brushed his ball sack. He jumped at the contact. "For me to touch." Ukeme got down on his knees, his face level with Bola's cock. He inhaled, the rush of air brushing against Bola's cock. His cock liked the sensation and perked up. "For me to smell."

  That head came even closer and Bola held his breath, scared of scaring Ukeme off. Or maybe making him change his mind. Because everything in him screamed that they knew where this was going, but he wasn't about to rush it. "For me to taste."
As the last syllable left his mouth, Ukeme surged forward and ran his tongue over the underside of Bola's cock. "Fucking hell," he yelped, splaying his hands behind him so they could grasp onto the door and keep him standing.

  He heard Ukeme chuckle. The bastard. And then Ukeme's tongue got to the tip of his cock and circled, dipping into his slit and his hands left the wall and landed on Ukeme's hair. He dug in and held on.

  Somewhere in the back of his mind, in the midst of the moans and the groans, and was that a whimper? He hoped he wasn't hurting Ukeme with how hard he was pulling on his hair.

  Ukeme used that tongue like a man on a mission. Like he was going to suck Bola's soul out through his cock and own him and Bola was happy to be along for the ride. He thrust forward, hard and fast into that hot mouth, Ukeme's gag reflex working wonderfully well and he took him in, inch by inch, and then further still.

  "Holy mother-fucking God," Bola whimpered.

  "I know quite a lot of people who would hate the use of those words. Especially arranged like that."

  The motherfucker was smiling. Bola couldn't see his face with how his was scrunched up and he was panting like a fish out of water, just to keep from coming hard, but those words sounded too damn smug to not be Ukeme laughing at him.

  "I will kill you," he managed to groan.

  The threat didn't even faze Ukeme. He just chuckled and took Bola's cock even deeper.

  "Shit," Bola breathed, held onto the back of Ukeme's head and started to thrust. Hard and fast, his cock trying to slide in as deep as Ukeme's throat would allow him to go. He went deep, and Ukeme's throat muscles flexed around the head of his cock.

  "I'm gonna…" he started to say, his hips moving in tandem with Ukeme's mouth.

  Then Ukeme halted the dance and pulled away. Bola whimpered.

  "Shhhh." Those fingers moved to the back of his neck and pulled Bola closer. Soft lips brushed against his. "We'll do it. And you'll come so hard that you will see stars."

  Bola whimpered again.

  "But I want it to be with you wearing a rubber and buried deep inside my ass."

  Bola groaned. "Shit."