by Willa Okati
“God, yes.” Remy’s keen ears picked up the barely-there sounds of Donovan squeezing a vast dollop of lubricant into his palm. He gasped in surprise, though, when Donovan drizzled a thick honey trail down the small of his back. “No half-measures.”
“Devil-man!”
“Which is why you love me.” Donovan parted Remy’s ass cheeks, not so easy with all the slippery lubricant on his fingers, but eh, the man was nothing if not determined, no? And good, so good, at what he did. Remy moaned as the dampened finger returned, teasing his entrance with quick, short jabs. “One or two?”
Remy felt greedy. “Two.”
“Tell me if I hurt you.” Donovan slowly slid his forefinger and a second digit inside Remy. “More than you like,” he added, wicked.
“I never complain, the way you hurt me.” Remy thrust back onto the fingers, taking them deep inside. Stretch, burn, ache, beautiful pain. He was a shameless bottom, no? He knew of nothing better than being filled with hot, hard cock. As the fire eased all too quickly, he lifted his head and demanded, “Three, now. Three!”
“Greedy.”
“And that -- ah! -- is why you love me, yes?” Remy writhed as Donovan pushed a third finger in, scissoring them wide. Fire, he was on fire, but these were flames to dance inside. He lost control of his English and began to babble in short, sharp bursts of Acadian French.
Donovan probably didn’t understand, no, but he got the idea bien sur. Stretch and thrust, stretch and thrust, he fucked with his fingers until they too were not enough.
Remy mewled in need. He could not put words, not even Acadian, to what he needed, but his Donovan, he still understood. Pulling his fingers out, Donovan braced a slick hand on either side of Remy’s slender hips. “It’s been too long,” he whispered, the words a kiss, as Remy felt the thick, blunt head of his lover’s cock pressing into his hole. A push, another flare of the brilliant agony, and then it was a swift, smooth slide, stuffing him full as he had so often dreamed.
Donovan let out a shaky breath. “Oh, God. God. You feel so -- so -- can’t wait.”
Remy shook his head. Don’t wait!
“All for you.” Donovan began the slow drag out, laughing as Remy writhed, crying out for delight and desire. “Hold on, amour. Here I go.”
One of the things Remy liked best about Donovan was that he never got predictable. Remy never knew how he would be fucked -- alors, he did not care so long as he did get fucked -- but Donovan knew a thousand different ways to make a man go mad.
He teased with choppy strokes in; he pulled almost completely free, then thrust forward like a battering ram; he filled Remy to his limits and rocked them to and fro, working Remy’s sweet spot until Remy shouted and clawed and clutched at the duvet. He humped against the bed-covering until Donovan slapped his hip. “Mine!”
Remy wailed and pushed back, the wiry hairs around Donovan’s cock tickling the tender skin of his ass. “More, more, s’il vous plait. Please!”
Donovan smacked Remy’s other hip and headed into the run for home, fucking good hard strokes in and out so fast Remy grew dizzy, wave after wave of pleasure too much for any man to bear sweeping through his body. He shook and quivered, tried to catch Donovan’s rhythm and gloried when he could not keep up.
Donovan stiffened, fingers digging into Remy’s flanks. “Fuck,” he began chanting. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! Gonna.”
Yes; it is time. Remy squeezed Donovan’s cock and sent his lover over the edge. Donovan hollered as he bucked forward with each shot of searing hot jism flooding Remy’s gut. Remy rocked and rolled, he played the sweet jazz melody with his body, wringing every drop out that possibly he could.
When Donovan pulled out of his hole, though he had known it would have to happen, Remy whimpered. Alors, empty again!
But ah, they were not finished, were they? Donovan turned Remy onto his back once more and wrapped his fist around Remy’s aching cock. “Come for me,” he ground out as he pumped the shaft, hard and punishing, just what Remy needed. “Let go.”
Remy arched his back with a wail as he crossed the line and could take no more. Heavy, wet spunk landed like drops of lightning on his belly, hot enough to burn, but oh, he would proudly wear such scars if there were ever any to be found.
When his muscles relaxed enough to ease his body back onto the duvet, Remy reached for Donovan, fumbling until their hands met and Donovan rolled them close together, chest to chest, arm across Remy’s back with palm flat along the spine. Both were breathing as if they had just run a race, them, and they had won. Laughing too a little, a good dessert to suit such a feast for the senses.
This, now, this was sex, and this was the reason he had always and would always wait for Donovan.
Remy tucked his head against Donovan’s chest, tossing his hair to tickle the skin. “Don’t you go and fall asleep on me. The day, she is young, and now that the edge is off, only think of what wicked things we can do, eh?”
Donovan chuckled wearily, but warmly. “You’ll wear me out.”
“I wear both of us out, and you love every minute, as do I.”
Donovan’s chuckle turned into a guffaw, and then a snort. Amused, Remy jabbed his lover in the ribs. “What is so funny, eh?”
“Just thinking about something.” Donovan swallowed his laughter. “I have to ask you a question.”
“Yes, you may fuck me again. Now would not be too soon, no.”
“Smartass.” Donovan touched the knuckles of a fist to the underside of Remy’s chin. “Okay, here it is.” He cleared his throat. “Voulez vouz coucher avec moi?”
Remy dissolved into helpless giggles.
“Well? Voulez vous or not?”
“You make a terrible Cajun, but oui… ce soir. Bon.”
“Damn right.” Donovan kissed the top of Remy’s head. “Love you.”
The words warmed Remy from the inside out and sent six months’ worth of lonely memories packing on their way. “Love you, amour,” he crooned, nuzzling just above Donovan’s nipple. “Love you forever and always.”
And it was fine, just fine, it was all he needed, and all he’d ever wanted.
He had been right -- this was a very, very good day.
Chapter Three
“Melissa?”
“Bzuh?” Melissa curled tighter around the pillow in her arms and buried her face in her pillow.
“Melissa, I’m sorry. I know you have to work tomorrow and you need your sleep.”
“Sleep. Uh-huh. Sleep good. Go ’way.”
Jonathan shook her lightly, smiling when she muttered a curse and smacked at him in slow-motion. “I think you should get up, sweetheart. I -- we -- I believe we may need you.”
One eye opened. “We? Need me? Why?”
Jonathan moved so Melissa had a clear view of Sullivan at his table on the other side of the studio they all shared. “I rather suspect something’s wrong.”
“Huh.” Melissa rose onto her elbow, blinking away sleepiness. “What the hell is he doing?”
“That would be my question.”
Jonathan had seen Sullivan in an intense mood before, had witnessed him becoming so absorbed in his work that he forgot the outside world. This was different. Ink splotches decorated his skin from fingers to elbows, with some smeared across his cheeks and forehead and a spot on the tip of his nose. His curly hair stuck up in a dozen different directions.
Those were not the things alarming Jonathan. No, his primary concern stemmed from the look in Sullivan’s eyes as the graphic artist stared at his drawing board. He’d seen similar gazes on the drunk and the drugged and the insane, lost in a haze of mental fog where they heard colors and tasted music.
Nothing about Sullivan moved save for his drawing hand. The pen he held, long since traded for when his pencil leads were all worn down or snapped in half, flew fast as a hummingbird’s wings. He sketched so quickly his fingers were nearly a blur.
“Shit.” Melissa kicked aside the light blanket she’d been sleeping unde
r and rolled out of bed naked and unashamed. “How long has he been like this?”
Jonathan’s lips parted in momentary, compelling lust as the sight of her full, rouge-tipped breasts, her slightly rounded tummy, and the siren song of her shaved pussy. Aphrodite rising from a nap. “What? Oh. Since just before you fell asleep, I think. I tried to rest, but the pencil scratching kept me awake… which I suppose is just as well.”
“This, my friend, this is not good.” Melissa carefully approached Sullivan. She gathered her breasts in both hands and offered the shapely mounds to her lover.
He didn’t blink.
“I could have told you that wouldn’t work,” Jonathan remarked quietly. “I placed a very fine erection on his desk in an attempt to distract him.”
“What happened?”
“He muttered something about how I was blocking his light and shoved my cock out of the way.”
“Sullivan turns down sex. Yeah, something ain’t right in the state of Denmark.” Melissa studied Sullivan’s mind-bogglingly quick drawing and the rapidly-growing stack of pages at his side. She picked one up, frowned, turned it this way and that. “This isn’t a comic. It’s all symbols and chicken scratch and… faces. I’m seeing the same two faces over and over again.”
“Do you know what might be happening?”
“Not sure.” Melissa wrapped her arms around her chest and chafed them together. “I’ve never heard of this happening before, but I think the table’s pulled him in. He’s still here in body, but his mind’s gone on vacation in the pictures.”
Jonathan dropped his head into his hands. “Damn. He said he could feel something like this trying to happen. A story pulling at his soul, wanting to break free. Hell’s bells, I encouraged him, even when he warned me trying this could be dangerous.”
“Yeah, but since when did Sully ever listen to anyone’s good advice, even his own? Don’t blame yourself, glasses-boy.” Melissa gave Jonathan a wink and blew him a kiss to soften her slur into a tease. “Okay.” She studied Sullivan. “Okay. Okay.”
“How do we wake him up? Bring him back to life?”
Melissa gazed at Sullivan for a long moment. “I don’t think we can. Yet. And I’m not sure we should.”
“How can you say that?” Jonathan protested. “He’ll collapse from exhaustion, or possibly thirst. For as long as I’ve been watching, he hasn’t so much as stopped to take a sip of water.”
“You don’t really need water or sleep when you’re in the pictures.” Melissa moved to stand behind Sullivan and kissed his cheek, smoothing down the beard he’d recently grown. “I don’t know what to do, Jonny. The drawing board has him good. If we tried to drag him away, he’d pitch a fit until he got free, and then he’d run right back. I guess the only thing for us to do is watch and wait.”
Jonathan shook his head stubbornly. “I don’t like it.”
“You think I’m crazy about the idea? Uh-uh. It’s dangerous for the human-born to get their minds tangled up this way. But if you’ve got a better solution, go for it. No?” Melissa sighed. “I get the feeling that it’s gonna be a long night. You want some coffee?”
“Yes. God, yes, coffee would be wonderful. Tea wouldn’t do the job just now.”
Melissa nodded and moved toward the kitchen. Halfway there she turned partway to give Jonathan a kindly look. “Hey. It’ll be okay. He’ll be all right, Jonathan. The table’s not evil and the world inside isn’t hell. This is happening for a reason, and when it’s finished he’ll come back to us. Promise.”
“I hope you’re right,” Jonathan muttered. He crossed the studio to crouch down at Sullivan’s side. He caressed Sullivan’s thigh, kneading the man’s runner’s muscles. “Where are you?” he asked quietly. “What do you see?”
Surprising him, Sully laughed, a painfully dry sound that cracked. “Oz,” he muttered. “Somewhere over the rainbow.”
Falling silent once again, he drew on.
* * *
Remy stood at his bedroom window, the sill coming up to waist level. No one outside would be able to see more than a bare chest and wildly tousled red hair. The bandana had somehow managed to stay on when they’d fucked, although it was tilted at a rakish angle. Face turned to the street, he soaked up the bright New Orleans sun.
Lying lazily by himself in Remy’s bed, Donovan tucked his hands behind his head and gazed at his lover. “Are you all right?”
“Me? You did not harm me, if that is what you worry about. A good sore ass, but I like this kind of sore. Non. I am only thinking.”
“Why such a serious face?”
“Alors! I look solemn?” Remy touched his mouth. “So I do. No worries, cher. I will be all right by and by. Soon. Trust me, eh?”
Donovan wanted to press the issue, but Remy trusted him with so much. He couldn’t probe for information without being a total jackass.
Didn’t stop him from worrying, though. Not that he’d hurt Remy for real -- Remy could take every bit of what Donovan had to give and want more. There was just something… off… about his attitude, the way he’d shrugged off Donovan’s arms and found his way to the window, standing alone.
He couldn’t push. Wouldn’t.
There were other things to try. Ways to tap through the strange barrier between them. Donovan started by tossing the bottle of slick from one hand to another, the container slapping against his palms.
“What are you playing with?”
“This new warming cinnamon stuff. Are you serious about having to hide the lube from your home help aide?”
Remy rolled his eyes. “Oui. She is a good woman, her, and cleans so well. Almost always nice, never looks down her nose at me. Cooks fine too, good Cajun food. Roux like you have never tasted! But, mon Dieu, she is very much the devout Catholic and to see such things makes her throw her hands up and scream. Then I must listen to her lecture me. Oh, she can talk for hours on one breath. The lube is bad enough, alone; the time she found the ass plug and the string of beads not meant for Mardi Gras -- sweet pitié. I thought my ears would fall off, and if I did not have them, then where would I be?”
Donovan frowned. “You shouldn’t have to hide things that are part of your lifestyle. She should mind her own business.”
“She should, yes, but I am Cajun, and I make do. These toys, these playthings, they are only substitutes for the genuine flesh when you are away.” Remy shrugged as he abandoned his post by the window and walked nimbly back to bed. He lay down lightly as dandelion fluff, scooting close enough to nuzzle the tip of his nose in Donovan’s springy chest hair. He moved his hips so their cocks touched, bringing Donovan’s prick back to attention. “Why should we talk about them anymore? They do not matter now.”
“But --”
“Non. Non. Leave this; we speak of it no more.” Remy wriggled against Donovan. “We have much better things to be doing, I think.” He seized Donovan’s nipple between his sharp teeth and tugged. “Oui?”
Donovan groaned. “You do know how to distract a man.”
“Then my evil scheme, she is working.” Remy’s hot breath made Donovan’s dampened nipple stiffen. “What shall we do next? The nature of the second game is your choice. Come and play. Or will you keep me waiting, nearly dying of suspense?”
“Like hell I will.” Donovan pounced on his lover, careful not to crush Remy under his greater weight. He pressed a hungry kiss to Remy’s eagerly parted lips. Remy raised his head and drove a hand into the shaggy cut of Donovan’s hair, tangling among its strands and giving them a sharp tug.
Donovan moaned into Remy’s mouth, sweeping their tongues together, stroking and twining, his cock hardening as Remy let him have his wicked way with the kiss.
Glorious. Like taking advantage of an angel newly fallen from heaven, eager to taste the joys of the flesh. It was a dance that had no end so long as the music kept playing, and it was pure zydeco when he and Remy got together.
Tearing his mouth from Remy’s, Donovan ground their groins together
, rubbing his own stiff cock and Remy’s impressive hard-on together. Remy mewled like a cat in heat, undulating with pleasure as Donovan worked him into a frenzy.
Reaching around, Donovan cupped, slapped and pinched Remy’s trim ass. He thrust a finger between the cheeks, pleased to feel Remy still slippery and stretched.
Remy flinched when Donovan invaded him with one finger, but in as much delight as surprise. He moaned and bit his lip, drawing a coppery bead of blood. The sight made Donovan groan, his cock pulsing, especially when Remy’s pink tongue flickered out to lick the drop away. “More,” Remy begged. “Give me more.”
Donovan slid a second finger into Remy’s hole and searched for the small, spongy lump that… ha! Found you. He pressed down firmly, laughing when Remy went wild in his arms and swore a brightly-colored Cajun streak. He didn’t understand one-third of what Remy said, but he suspected his lover had a seriously dirty mouth when he got excited.
The curve of Remy’s shoulder called to Donovan. He attacked with sharp nips and sucking kisses, drawing red marks that looked gorgeous on Remy’s creamy skin. Remy hissed, scratching his nails down Donovan’s back, sharp lines of pain that ramped up his already frantic need. He rolled Remy onto his own back and assaulted the man’s slim, tightly muscled chest with his voracious mouth.
“Touch me,” Remy panted. “Your hand, I need your hand.”
Donovan plunged his tongue into Remy’s navel as he wrapped his fingers around the man’s column of heated, swollen flesh. Remy wailed, throat bowing as he tilted his head back with ecstasy.
“You like this?” Donovan teased, dragging his finger over the slick head of Remy’s cock and down its side, narrow as the rest of Remy but extra-long. He toyed with Remy’s smooth, hairless balls, rolling them back and forth, then coming back for a solid hold on the shaft. “How about this?”
Remy gasped for air. “I feel fine, but you can do better.” He pumped his hips, driving his dick through the tightness of Donovan’s grip. “You tantalize me, mean as the devil. I have been good this year. Give me my present.”
Donovan pumped Remy’s cock, not just masturbating him but driving him wild. “I don’t know. How good have you been, really?”