by Avis Black
"You dumbass! You gave him Mr. Bunny? What'd you do that for? It wasn't necessary 'cause I already mailed that CD off to Amanda!"
"Rafe asked me to," Denny replied miserably, “and I think Jason knew it.”
Chapter 13
The doorbell rang. On the other side Rafe heard a faint voice saying, “Please God, let it be Rafe. Please please pretty please."
The student lifted an eyebrow. "Who is it?" he called.
"Jason," came the muffled answer.
“Took you long enough, asshole,” Rafe breathed. When he opened the door, he found the guitarist holding an awkward combination of motorcycle helmet, leather jacket, Mr. Bunny, and rather bizarrely, a vase of roses. Rafe blinked.
"May I come in?" Jason asked meekly. "Mr. Bunny got left behind at Boxkite Studios again."
"Oh, yeah. Here, uh, let me take your things.” His hands full, Rafe dithered awkwardly.
"You might--want to put all that stuff down," Jason suggested
"Okay, um." After a moment of irresolute pacing, Rafe set the jacket and helmet down on a couch. The roses, though, seemed to daunt his decision-making abilities, as did Mr. Bunny. Watching him, Jason marveled. Rafe, in his ragged denim cutoffs and T-shirt, bare feet, plush animal, and bow-tied vase, standing at a complete loss for what to do with himself, was a rare sight.
"Did you buy this for Amanda?" Rafe managed to say.
"No. She's still at her parents'."
Their eyes met. Then the student half-turned to see if there was anyone else behind him who could possibly be interested in roses.
"They're for you. I never thanked you properly for pulling me off that car. I wanted to get you something, but couldn't think of what."
"A carton of cigs would have been nice," replied the student, flustered.
"I tried smoking your brand earlier today and they were awful, so I bought the roses instead. They smell better."
"They do?" Rafe inched his nose towards the petals, but the GIRLY alarm went off inside his head, and he shied away. Then, gathering his courage, he tried again. "You're right. They're not bad."
"People usually put vases on tables," said Jason to the air.
"Oh, yeah." The roses found a home on the linoleum top of the soda fountain.
"Is Alexis here?"
Rafe tensed at the question. "He has a concert tonight, so he won't be back until late."
"I want to apologize for the way I behaved. I was a jerk."
"That's okay." The student placed Mr. Bunny on a shelf next to a stuffed armadillo and nervously ran his fingers through his hair. “So, you think I'm going to offer a jerk like you a drink?"
On the shelf behind the student was a collection of small wooden tops, and the guitarist brushed Rafe's shoulder as he picked one up. With a deft flick he sent it spinning inside his cupped hand. "Yes," Jason replied coolly.
An amber ribbon poured steadily into Jason's glass, foaming. "More popcorn?" Rafe asked. He held a kernel out, noticed Jason waiting with his mouth open, and poked it inside.
Salt, thought Jason, tasting the finger. On the other side of the bar, Rafe was holding his own beer glass negligently between two fingers as he drank, his dark eyes fixed on Jason's. A TV above their heads was showing some sort of Japanese film. A samurai was staring at a kneeling female captive, running his eyes, then his hand, across her exposed nape.
"Plain old vanilla het," said Rafe with a sigh. "I suppose this is more to your taste nowadays."
“Could you turn that off?” Jason asked.
"How come you don't like it? Look at her. She has a nice nape and shoulders." Rafe was staring intently at the guitarist's face, a hint of hostility in his eyes.
The atmosphere had changed. The mood of the roses was gone, and everything was poison-bitter. Rafe's expression was familiar, much too familiar, but now Jason understood it. He'd seen it nearly every day back when he'd lived with Rafe. Trying to deflect the student's anger, Jason said, "That's one thing I've never understood. Why are Japanese guys attracted to the back of a girl's neck?"
Rafe set his beer down and moved around to Jason's side of the soda fountain. "It's a holdover from the samurai days." To illustrate, he lifted the samurai sword off the wall and unsheathed it.
Fear, full-on and pounding, began to churn inside Jason's stomach. Revenge. Is that what he's planning?
Rafe placed the sword along the counter and seemed not to notice as the guitarist edged backwards off his bar stool.
"Think of the position you have to be in to expose your nape." With one smooth motion, Rafe knelt. "Your head is down.” He rested his palms on his bent knees, his eyes shut, face pointing towards the floor. "A procession of samurai is walking by, escorting their lord, and all the peasants line up like this by the side of the road."
Jason noticed that in this posture, Rafe's hair was just short enough to bare his nape.
"A samurai notices a particularly pretty girl among the peasants, and he approaches her."
Unconsciously, Jason moved closer.
"Then he'd slice her fucking head right off. Oh, yeah," Rafe crooned. "One swing of his sword, and he'd blow his wad at the same time. He'd have a murder orgasm. He'd come at the same time her blood spurted out of the empty stump of her neck."
"The samurai were disgusting people," said Jason.
Rafe looked up in surprise. "Anyway, that's the sexual psychology behind the bared neck."
Jason snorted. "Do me a favor. Kneel like you were a moment earlier. I want to see that again."
Rafe obeyed. "Is there a bug on my back or something?"
In absolute silence, Jason's fingers closed around the hilt of the samurai sword. He lifted it off the counter. His arm, steady enough at first, began to shake. Reaching out, he traced a cut above the skin of Rafe's neck.
Slice.
"Well?" the student asked.
Jason was hypnotized by the blade. The shuddering weapon weaved closer, a finger's breadth above Rafe's skin.
"Um, Jason?"
Then the guitarist felt it. The twitch, the craving. The nudge at the front of his trousers. The trembling sword went stock-still.
"Jason, what are you doing?"
"Don't move," the guitarist ordered. He eased the sword-tip just under Rafe's T-shirt, hooking the chain of the leaf necklace, and jerked. The chain broke, sending the silver leaf flying under a table. Rafe whirled around as Jason raised the sword in triumph. "Just getting into the samurai mood. I think I understand them, now," the guitarist replied blandly.
Rafe's face became an unhealthy color. "Why does an idiot like you have to role-play at the worst moment?" He grabbed the broken chain in one hand and Jason's sword-wrist with the other, squeezing both tight as a tourniquet. The weapon slid out of Jason's hand, and Rafe caught it by the hilt.
"You fucking asshole. You broke my chain."
"Tell Alexis it was an accident," Jason replied without sympathy. "Hell, just replace it with one of his. It's a generic silver chain, and I'm sure he owns several necklaces." This is too familiar. We'd pick a fight, then-- "Let me go.”
Rafe released him, and Jason shook the circulation back into his hand.
"Get the fuck out."
"What?"
Rafe sheathed the sword and hung it back on the wall. "Get out. In my present mood I'm going to kill you. I lured you here, okay? You know that. I've got my agenda for this visit, and you've got yours. But I realize mine is going to get both of us hurt, and I don't want that anymore. Your marriage is screwed, and I'm about to screw things up with Lexi."
"What about my agenda? It means nothing to you?" Jason replied evenly.
"Fuck!" Rafe yelled, losing his temper. "What's your agenda, North? Explain it to me. Does it have something to do with an offer you threw right back in my face?"
"I think you offered a night, no regrets."
"Well, shit," Rafe replied sarcastically. "We've had a lot of nights, every one of them messed up. One more would only be a waste of time,
wouldn't it?"
"Not if we decide otherwise."
"What the fuck does that mean? If we had one good night, what the fuck does it matter? It doesn't matter anymore! You left me, goddammit, YOU LEFT ME. I never intended--" He dropped to the carpet, gripping the chain in his fist. "I never intended to leave you. I don't want to leave Alexis. I don't want to hurt anybody,” he keened.
Cautiously, Jason put an arm around his ex-boyfriend, afraid he'd receive spitting venom for his pains. A few minutes later, Rafe raised his head, his face blotchy with tears.
"I lured you here thinking I was going to teach you a lesson, and then all I could think about was how mad I was. I thought it would be different." Rafe was blinking and sniffling. Jason tried to wipe his face with a tissue, but the other batted it aside. "Stop it. You never used to do that shit."
"Doesn't mean I can't now." Jason tried again and Rafe, exasperated by the other's stubbornness, let him blot away the moisture.
"Fuck, my ex-boyfriend is trying to comfort me. This is gruesome."
Jason's arm eased under Rafe's T-shirt, and he rested his fingertips on the small of Rafe's back. "I had my bad day, so don't feel sorry for having yours," the guitarist replied mildly.
"It was those flowers that did it. I was normal until then."
My jaw's still intact, and he hasn't moved, so-- Jason's thumb dug in, licking like a tongue at the two long muscles.
Rafe's breath caught. After a moment, he said, "What were we talking about?"
"Broken hearts. Killing each other. Sex." There was no irony in Jason's tone. He rocked his knuckles gently against the hollow.
"So. Where do we go from here?"
"I don't think you want to leave Alexis," Jason said finally. The words were painful to say.
"No."
"Then how about that night?"
"What for?"
Feather-light, a thumb tip began creeping upwards, tickling in a circle.
"Because we both want it, and because I owe it to you. When you first met Alexis, it should have been no regrets that time, too, if I'd been more mature about it."
Rafe opened his hand, spilling the chain to the floor. He stared at it, then at the silver leaf lying forlornly under an end table. He sighed. "You promise? No regrets?"
"None."
"Let's go over to that couch, then.”
The student stared at the bright yellow Naugahyde like it was an electric chair, then began to pat himself down for a cigarette. Wordlessly, Jason gestured him forward. Rafe jerked his chin in a 'no.' He felt along the counter of the soda fountain, searching wildly for his missing cigarette packet. "Goddamn motherfucking sonofabitch!" he screeched. "Where are they? I'm ready to kill--"
Jason caught his lover's wrist and spun him towards the couch. They landed in a thump of cushions, then sat silently as if stunned to find themselves there. Gently, Jason massaged the wrist he was holding, feeling it thrum like an electric wire.
"Jason, you're--tasting my arm."
"So? Go ahead and taste me right back." The guitarist's mouth was working upwards from Rafe's elbow.
"Fu--ahh. I'll give you a million dollars if you can find my cigarettes in the next thirty seconds.”
"You can release all that nervous tension by putting something else in your mouth. Oral fixations are easy to satisfy."
"Are you kidding? I'm having the worst nic fit of my life! Woomp."
Three fingers had just plugged Rafe's mouth. "Suck on those a moment," Jason said. Another pair of fingers squirmed inside a leg of Rafe's shorts and probed rhythmically.
Rafe's mouth moved wetly over the fingers, tasting. He released the hand and swallowed hard. "Metal guitar strings," he said. "You were playing for a long time today. That's Jason flavor. Bitter steel." He unbuttoned the top of his shorts, and after hesitating a moment, slid his zipper open.
Jason, still probing under the shorts, glanced down and noticed the slow rise of Rafe's cock. The guitarist stopped moving his hand. The exposed white underwear had filled outwards, so full that the waistband had crept down, exposing black hair. Jason sank a thumb inside Rafe's navel and traced a path through the hairs with his forefinger. "Hold your arms up. Thanks." Jason eased Rafe's T-shirt up to his armpits.
The minutes crept past. Their lips began to feel over-used, like a hand shaken a thousand times, swollen from pressure. Both their faces were red. Jason's hair had gotten in both their mouths. Buttons and zippers and rivets abraded skin under the slow glide of arousal, yet no more clothing had been removed, other than Rafe's T-shirt.
"You look like I've punched you," Jason said, brushing Rafe's lip. "What's the medical term? Edema. It makes me feel weird to see your lips like this. It's very arousing."
"That's because they're swollen like a baboon's behind.”
“Shall we move on to the next stage?"
Jason could almost read Rafe's reply, written in speech bubbles. !?! You stupid fuck. We've had sex a zillion fucking times, so why are you asking now?
"I've been ready for the past half-hour.” Rafe bit into a pectoral muscle.
Jason yelped and gave the cotton bulge a slight pinch in revenge. For a second the old Rafe returned, and an explosion of percussive curses bounced off Jason's eardrum.
"What was that?" asked the guitarist, pretending not to hear.
Rafe's face flushed to near-apoplexy. "I'm sorry," the student gasped.
Jason raised his eyebrows. Rafe had apologized?
"Just continue," the other groaned. "Without the pain, please."
Jason moved two fingers inside the slit of cotton, stroking the hardness there. The entire couch jerked an inch along the carpet, and he was forced to latch onto the back of it to keep his balance. The student undid the other's jeans, and the guitarist worked them off over his hips. He was straddling his lover, pulling down Rafe's shorts and underwear. "Let me," Jason said. Rafe slid open a drawer under the nearby coffee table. Though it pained the guitarist to use Alexis's sexual supplies, he had no choice. The tube was in his hands a moment later. Then he noticed the teeth marks on the plastic cap. Jason stared at them, paralyzed. The mental image was too vivid.
"Jason," said Rafe urgently.
"Okay." He put the cap between his teeth and unscrewed it. The contents felt cold, squeezed onto the fingertips of his right hand. Still holding the cap between his teeth, he replaced the top and threw the tube back inside the drawer. "I suppose I ought to ask if you're in good sexual health," he said in his best doctor's voice.
The reply was a sharp, upward kneeing in the ass.
"Sorry, I'm waiting for it to warm up." When he judged the gel comfortable enough, he stroked it around the head of Rafe's cock. In this position, it was hard to apply it to himself where he'd need it. Then he braced himself, his leg muscles straining as he lowered himself onto Rafe.
He'd forgotten it felt like this, over those long two years. He hadn't often let Rafe enter him this way. His leg muscles were shaking, and Rafe grabbed his arms to help take the weight as Jason sank slowly down onto his lover.
"Maybe we should try it--"
"No, this is enough." The guitarist began to move. As it sometimes happened, his own erection began to die once he'd been penetrated. It was hard to maintain it in this position.
Rafe grabbed his discarded T-shirt and wrapped it around Jason's erection. The motion of Jason's body into this softness worked to rouse him again, but it was so hard to move in the right way, both into the cloth, and on Rafe as well.
It was slow. Too slow. But Rafe refused to move his hands. Jason was forced to work harder and faster to achieve what they wanted, even if it hurt himself. Sliding down so deep he was resting on Rafe's hips, able to ease the strain on his legs for a moment, though he was filled to the point of unbearability, then thrusting up into Rafe's hands for that squeeze of pleasure, only for his shaking legs to lower himself on that length again, penetrating so far inside him it left him frightened from the shock of it, yet still excited, to
be speared like that.
The effort it took was colossal. The sweat was beginning to drip off his shoulders and chest, sprinkling Rafe beneath him. The student's eyes were closed, his face drawn. Suddenly, a burning flush covered Rafe's face and chest. With no warning, the student thrust himself upwards into Jason, moving violently, and his grip tightened around the T-shirt.
"Keep doing it," Jason gasped. He felt the damp rush inside himself. Rafe's hands pawed Jason's erection, running along it. The guitarist moved faster now, and felt his own slow, messy release, almost too agonizingly slow for any real pleasure. He seemed to soak the entire T-shirt, already damp from the sweat of both their bodies. Then he lifted himself off, and collapsed on his lover's chest.
He hadn't known that much sweat could be leached out of two bodies. The couch was slick with it, refusing to absorb it, and his skin was burning from the salt. His legs ached like he'd run ten miles.
Rafe was asleep. How much time had passed since they'd had sex? An hour? Two hours? He was still partially naked, lying on top of his ex-boyfriend, whose current boyfriend might walk in at any moment. He eased himself off and began to rearrange his clothes. Rafe didn't stir. Tiptoeing, Jason fetched his leather jacket. Then he noticed the silver leaf lying just under a table.
He fought the urge. He shouldn't do it.
He glanced at Rafe again. If ever a young man looked like a debauched wreck, it was Rafe. His shorts and underwear were twisted around his knees, leaving his body gleaming and nude from that point up, and his sweat-dampened hair lay in every direction. On the floor in front of the couch was the sperm-spattered T-shirt. It gave Jason an odd satisfaction, knowing he had caused all this.
He bent down and picked up the leaf.
Would you ever leave Alexis? he'd asked Rafe during sex.
No. I couldn't.
Would you ever do this again?
Fuck yes. A thousand times.
He'd coerced the words during orgasm, so the admission didn't count. Jason knew that. A man would say anything in those circumstances.