The Bohemian and the Banker

by Bonnie Dee

  The man broke off kissing long enough to dispense with the shirt and to laugh at Nigel’s eagerness, then he resumed kissing, but not Nigel’s mouth this time. Jay peppered kisses over his jaw, his throat, his chest. Not merely kisses, but licks and little nibbles that woke Nigel’s body. He was alive and aware in ways he’d never have imagined. The night sky glowing above them, the sounds of the city around him, the hard roof thinly shielded by a smelly mat, the masculine scent of Jay’s body and the weight of it—all this combined in one massive sensation that overpowered Nigel. This was not the effect of coca wine. He hadn’t drunk that much. It was the pure opium of lust and sex and attraction and…feeling.

  Nigel couldn’t deny the feelings beyond the mere physical, which tumbled through him. He was so alive and here with the one person in the world who could make this possible. Surely mere chance and the prank of two idiot Frenchmen hadn’t brought him to Cabaret Michou, and surely no other man would have swept him away like this. Only Jean Michel, John Michael, Jay could affect him so.

  Nigel looked down his own body. Jay had bunched his undershirt to bare his stomach. Now his wet, warm mouth continued an inexorable march to the spot he was determined to conquer and claim. Oh God, oh Christ. Nigel’s heart pounded so hard it seemed he should be able to see it knocking under the skin of his breastbone. And his cock… Nigel concentrated all his will on not letting it erupt in Jay’s massaging fist. Focus instead on the fine brown hair of the man giving him such pleasure, he told himself. Focus on what an exotic person he is with his dual nature—the ethereal femininity of his stage persona and his earthy masculine presence in real life. What a complex individual. So much to learn about him and…

  Nigel groaned, for now Jay crouched between his legs, pushed Nigel’s trousers and smalls partway down his hips, and brought his painfully aching cock out for the inspection of all of Paris. Right here under the night-dark sky, within view of anyone who cared to look out an upper window of one of the taller buildings, Nigel’s willy was on display! He did not know himself. He was not the same man who’d walked out of his hotel room this morning expecting nothing more from the day than a long session reviewing the books of Chauve-Souris. He was a man who had lost his mind.

  But, oh, what a grand way to go insane as Jay lowered his face and sucked Nigel’s cock into his mouth. Sinuous tongue swirled around the tip, and that alone was nearly enough to make him come undone. When Jay took him in deeper and applied a bit of suction, Nigel’s fingers turned into claws, gripping the padding to ground himself. If not, he’d be whirled up into the sky, soaring, then falling, a foolish flightless bird. Too soon for that. He must experience more of this excruciating pleasure first.

  His gaze riveted on the top of Jay’s head and a slice of his profile, the sweet curve of long lashes, as he bobbed up and down, cheeks hollowed by the sucking. Each upward stroke exposed the glistening length of Nigel’s cock. Each plunge down smothered it in darkness, heat and wetness. Mesmerizing to watch, and the sight heightened his desire even further. Bliss! Nigel didn’t even try to stifle his groans as he lifted his hips into Jay’s firm grip. The man’s hands held him by the hipbones while his mouth swallowed Nigel alive. Conquered, flag-planted and happy to be subjugated by this sovereign nation.

  In a last effort to stop his orgasm from unleashing too soon, Nigel raised his gaze to the sky above. O luscious lunar globe. O sharp and piercing stars. What glory heavens wrought while mankind, with eyes ever downcast, trod self-created straight angles over earth’s flowing curves. He was a poet tonight with words and images rather than numbers filling his galloping mind.

  But now, not even the distraction of the sky could restrain the raging force tearing through him. Nigel’s shoulders pressed into the pallet and his body rose again toward his conqueror. Jay released his hips to grasp the base of Nigel’s shaft, adding stronger pressure than that of his mouth. It took no more than a few strokes of that firm, masterful hand to finish him.

  With a cry to rival the yowling alley cats, Nigel released. The tension within him burst like a prisoner breaking from shackles to run shouting toward freedom. Not so flightless after all, he sailed high and experienced more of life and lust and the world than he had in his entire life thus far. Now he was the foreign explorer invading new realms, strange and wonderful places. How could he ever go back from here?

  That final thought brought him down from his high flight with a thud. The answer was he could not. The answer was he must. This magical night was a dream, a fragment of time he could not hold on to for long. But what he could hold on to for at least a little longer was Jay’s solid and very real body.

  With the last of his tremors skittering away, Nigel pushed up on his elbows and gazed at Jay and his own flagging cock resting on his stomach.

  Jay wiped his mouth and grinned. A mild shock filled Nigel as he realized the man had swallowed his seed. Swallowed it! Imagine. Distasteful thought—and remarkable and rather exciting. A small part of him was inside Jay right now.

  Jay crawled up to lie over him and pressed a kiss to his mouth, sweeping his tongue between Nigel’s lips so he could taste his own flavor. Jay pulled away with a smack of lips. “How was that, then? Everything you’d want it to be?”

  Nigel nodded. “But now I should like… That is, would you want me to? Although I’m not sure I could… But I’ll try.”

  Jay chuckled. “I won’t say nay.” He flopped onto his back and wriggled his trousers and drawers down his legs. Nigel was confronted with the visual feast of Jay’s nude body. Not only the chiseled and nearly hairless chest and torso now, but all of him. Wonderfully long hairy legs, narrow hips and between those hips… Nigel stole a peek, then another, and finally forced himself to gaze long and unashamedly at the object of his desire. Jay’s cock angled from his body, hard and thick above his sac and the brown curls coiling around the base. The lighting was too dim for Nigel to truly study every vein and ridge or the tint of skin, but what he saw was enough to make him go quite dry in the throat.

  Excitement and fear competed within him. Now he must follow Jay’s example and take the man’s erection in his hand and…and mouth. He positioned himself on his knees between Jay’s casually sprawled legs, reached out a hand and tentatively encircled the other man’s shaft. He stroked lightly from base to tip, and some of his nerves abated as he relished the sleek skin sheathing a column of granite. Oh yes, he could absolutely do this. He wanted to do this.

  Nigel had tucked his depleted cock into his smalls once more, but it twitched with interest as the hair on Jay’s legs tickled his own bare legs. He took a firmer grip on Jay’s erection and stroked up and down with slow, steady movements. Bending down, he licked his tongue across the smooth head protruding from a hood of foreskin. The salty taste wasn’t unpleasant. In fact, he wanted more of it, so he opened his mouth and drew the tip inside. Warm and solid against his tongue, and the soft sound Jay made in his throat showed his appreciation. Nigel wanted to hear it again. He sucked more of that impossible length and nearly gagged.

  “Relax, and you’ll go further,” Jay murmured as he softly caressed Nigel’s hair.

  Nigel followed his direction, loosening the muscles of his throat, and on the next stroke he was able to encompass more of Jay. Saliva slicked the shaft, making the glide easier. Fear completely abated now, Nigel concentrated his full attention on the task at hand—eliciting more quiet groans and quick inhalations from Jay. Those precious sounds of pleasure gave Nigel pleasure too. His mother always said to give was better than to receive, but Nigel was fairly certain she’d never envisioned anything like this.

  He worked Jay until his jaw began to ache. Then Jay molded Nigel’s hand around the base of his cock, demonstrating how his hand could do most of the work. For the next few minutes, only the slap of flesh on flesh and the slurping of Nigel’s mouth disturbed the quiet. Apparently the angry—or perhaps lusty—alley cats had moved on to other act
ivities.

  So in tune with the body beneath his hands had Nigel become that when the moment of crisis drew near, he felt its advent in the tightening of the sac he fondled in one hand and heard it in the catch of Jay’s breath. Nigel watched the expression on the man’s face—transported by ecstasy as he’d been during his singing. Then Jay’s body contracted and Nigel swallowed his spending, not with the distaste he’d expected, but with an unexpected joy, as if he’d received a gift.

  Nigel straightened and sat on his heels to watch Jay’s pleasure-filled face for a moment, then lay on the mattress beside him. So that was it. He’d performed fellatio on a man and had it done to him. He only knew of the term from a brief, shocking passage in an illicit book he’d once dared to read in the windowless back room of a disreputable bookshop. That one short reading had fed his fantasies for years after. How could a man survive on such crumbs?

  Jay rapped his knuckles on Nigel’s head, a gentle tap. “Thinking too hard again. You’ll ruin your complexion. Tell me what’s keeping that brain of yours so busy.”

  Gray eyes peered into his, and a smile played over Jay’s mouth. Smiling seemed to be the man’s habitual expression.

  Nigel shrugged. “You’ll consider me hopelessly naïve and conventional if I tell you.”

  “I already do, so no worries there,” Jay teased. “I never imagined you had much, if any, experience, so nothing you might say will surprise me. Actually, it’s been so long since my own virtue was plucked that I’d appreciate hearing a virgin’s experience. How did you like it?”

  Nigel slid his palm slowly up Jay’s stomach, his finger idly marking each rib as he made his way to the hard plane of Jay’s chest. He traced his fingertip around one brown disc, then touched the tip of the nipple, a little pebble in the center. Only then did he finally answer. “If I was your poet friend—which one was that?—I’d offer the perfect words to explain what it felt like and everything it meant to me. But I’m no poet and so I’ll simply say, it was very, very good, both the receiving and the giving, and that I should like to do it again.”

  Jay whooped with laughter, and Nigel shot out a hand to cover his mouth, stifling the loud sound, which might draw attention to them. “Immediately?” His voice was muffled by Nigel’s palm.

  “Well, before I leave here.” For leave he must. The knowledge weighted him like an anchor.

  Jay frowned as he pulled Nigel’s hand away. “We have the entire night, don’t we? Let’s not think about anyone leaving.”

  Nigel nodded. A sudden wave of longing and emotion swept over him, and he impulsively grabbed Jay and hugged him, one-armed as the other was wedged between them on the pallet. They stayed that way for a moment, two bodies close together, heat building between them, breath warm and damp on each other’s skin.

  From somewhere, a window, a rooftop, a balcony, or perhaps down on the street, the sweet, melancholy strains of a violin wafted through the air. Thin and pure and perfect, the melody tied them together with musical ribbons.

  “We should dance. You said you never dance,” Jay whispered against his temple.

  With the energy of a child, he was suddenly on his feet and hauling Nigel upright. He clasped Nigel in his arms in a traditional waltz stance but much closer, and he began to move his feet.

  At first, Nigel remained stiff and resistant. How foolish they would appear to anyone watching—two half-naked men in a shuffling embrace. But he forced himself to throw away his pride. It was lovely being held and rocked in Jay’s arms. And if hidden eyes actually were watching them, well, they’d seen worse than this by now.

  As the music quavered in heart-wrenching tones and the night waned, Nigel wanted exactly what he had in his arms. In this moment, he would happily throw away everything—the career he’d worked at so tirelessly, his little home in London, his quiet street and neighbors, all of it. For what good were any of those things without someone with whom to share them? But he supposed it was the spell of the night and the music, the sex and the coca wine. Soon he would come to his senses and all this would fade like a wonderful but improbable dream.

  As if reading his mind, Jay murmured, “It has been quite a nice night.”

  Past tense, yes. And nice? It had been beyond magical, but perhaps it was one of many such nights for Jay.

  “I’ve enjoyed myself, but even I am mortal enough to require sleep.” Jay pulled away from Nigel, gave a huge yawn and thumped his chest with his fists a couple of times. “Care to lie down too?”

  The mat was small, but Nigel carefully lay on his side and wrapped his arms around Jay.

  “Comfortable, yes.” Jay spoke through a yawn, so it was hard to understand. “Pity you have to go. But I suppose all good things…”

  His voice trailed off. The words had sounded so casual, exactly the sort of thing a lady might say to the guests she wished would say farewell and good night at the end of a party: all good things must come to an end.

  “Should I leave?” Nigel asked.

  “What…you like.” Jay made sleepy snuffling sounds.

  What he’d like was to stay forever and dance every night and eat dinners at odd hours with big spoons. Those thoughts made the night seem almost silly. An odd panic seized him. Magic was leaching out of the encounter, and he couldn’t bear that.

  Jay slept, his breath deep and slow. For a long time, Nigel lay with his arms about him. The sun was beginning to blush the horizon.

  He must go back to what he knew.

  “Thank you,” Nigel whispered. He carefully unwrapped his body from Jay’s.

  He dressed in his rumpled dirty clothes and made his way through the hole in the ceiling.

  As he walked down the stairs, he passed the man called Merde, who waved to him and said something in French. Merde raised and lowered his eyebrows at Nigel, clearly some sort of suggestive expression. But he spoke, and his voice ended in the lilt of a question.

  Nigel shrugged and smiled back. He supposed Merde was asking him where he was going, or if he was well, or if Jay had wanted him to go, or was he a fool to leave, or a fool to have ever come to this apartment.

  A shrug was the only appropriate answer to any of those questions. He had no notion of the truth to them. He wandered the streets until he found a cab. By the time he’d get back to the hotel, washed up and changed, and reached the office, he’d be late. Nigel Warren was never late for work.

  He found he didn’t care at all.

  Chapter Six

  Nigel stood in his hotel room, a reasonably priced establishment, neat and well-furnished but not extravagant. As he froze in the middle of the floor, motionless, unable to think of what he must do next, his reluctance seemed childish.

  Work beckoned, work he rather enjoyed, filled with numbers he understood and appreciated.

  He comprehended the source of his foot-dragging: he would need to go back to his life entirely, rip away the time with Jay ruthlessly and set it aside. The worlds could not exist simultaneously.

  Before he reentered Chauve-Souris, he would have to bathe. He reeked of sex, alcohol, tobacco and sweat. Any other time in his life, such filthy clothes and body would have disgusted him, but now… God, the thought of rinsing it all from his skin and hair filled him with dull despair.

  Best to act without thought, then.

  The modern facilities gleamed, and he felt as if he’d stepped into a harsh reality after a pleasant dream. He ripped off every stitch, dropped his clothes where he stood, entirely unlike himself, but if he stooped to pick up the clothes and hang them, he might be caught by the scent. He required ridiculous strength of will for the simple act of bathing.

  In the tub, a brisk wash; out of the tub, and a careful shave. The familiar actions served to focus him again on the life he knew, though he refused to look at himself too closely even as he used the straight razor.

  With the clean socks, sock
suspenders and undergarments, he transformed himself back into someone he knew. He finished dressing solemnly, almost as ritual-bound as a knight donning armor or a priest putting on vestments. Nigel Warren had been blown to pieces by his time with Jay and must now reassemble himself into a recognizable man.

  Or what?

  Why wouldn’t he simply drop everything…and do what?

  No, he had a life. He was more than competent at his work and satisfied with the trappings of his existence. Or he had been.

  He still was.

  He picked up and folded the clothes he’d discarded. After handing them to a maid he met in the hall, he returned to his room.

  He wasn’t a boy who could be tempted to abandon everything he’d worked for merely for the sake of pleasure, even the greatest pleasure he’d ever known.

  Besides he was too great a coward. If he returned to that apartment—even assuming he could find it again—if Jay looked at him with horror, or worse, a blank expression, Nigel wasn’t certain he’d survive the experience. There was no reason to suppose Jay didn’t find men every week, every night. Nigel had discovered a great deal about himself but now understood he didn’t know nearly as much about Jay, who remained an intriguing mystery.

  For instance, he had no notion about Jay’s appetite. The expatriated singer obviously had no internal prohibitions against bringing strangers home. He might not appreciate them reappearing on his doorstep after they’d slunk away.

  He might not mind.