The French Lesson

by Robyn Elliot

  “Tell me what you want,” Stef murmured, kissing Danny slowly.

  Danny shivered with anticipation. “Fuck, I love you,” Danny couldn’t help himself. He’d been saying it like some sacred mantra for the last three days, but he wasn’t worried; because Stef kept telling him that he was never going to let him go. No. Not ever. That’ll do me, Danny thought.

  “Me too,” Stef teased, knowing Danny’s response.

  “You think you’re funny, don’t you?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Say it, then,” Danny pressed. He rubbed his nose against Stef’s. He felt satisfaction as Stef’s cock, hard as hell now, pushed into his groin.

  “Daniel Peter Hastings, I love you. I love you and fucking adore you so much, even when you’re hyperventilating and cleaning door handles. But then, I have an excellent relaxation technique for you…”

  Danny ground his groin harder against Stef’s. He was so turned on he didn’t know what he wanted next; rim, suck, fuck. It beat rock, paper, scissors hands down.

  Stef wrapped his arms around Danny’s slender body, Danny instinctively molding himself against him. “Forget chamomile tea and lavender oil, okay? Not for you, baby. As your selfless support worker, it is my duty to suck you off until you’re so rubbed out from orgasms that you won’t care if you see a cushion tilted to a 60-degree angle.”

  “I can’t decide whether you’re taking the piss, or loving me,” Danny observed.

  The teasing look left Stef’s face, as he rolled Danny onto his back, gazing down at him. “You’re perfect,” Stef said, Danny’s breathing growing more rapid as he recognized the dark shading of Stef’s eyes as undiluted 'fuck me with all you’ve got' kind of lust.

  “No-one’s perfect,” Danny whispered, closing his eyes, as Stef started the slow exploration of Danny’s sensitive nipples.

  No-one's perfect? Except you, Danny mused, except you, husband…

  Perfect, like now. Danny arched his back slightly against the mattress, opening his legs and thrusting his hips upwards. Legs open, eyes closed. The formula for ecstasy. Don’t come yet, he was thinking, or at least it was some semblance of thought, seeing as his brain was currently wired to every nerve ending that involved sexual arousal. He opened his eyes again, groaning as he did, and looked at the magnificent spectacle before him. Stef’s mouth moved up and down Danny’s penis, slick with saliva, silky from ecstasy. Stef did that thing that he knew would make Danny react with extra sluttiness, and circled the tip of Danny’s cock with his finger, then licked the little pool of fluid that leaked to his touch.

  “Oh my God, Stephane!”

  Stef smiled to himself, which was impressive considering he had a lovely sized cock in his mouth; Danny’s pink flushed, swollen cock that seemed made for his mouth. He liked how Danny called him by his full name in the throes of approaching climax, as if somehow, the sweetness of the sex and the heat of the pleasure made everything between them seem predestined, and proper, and in its place. Everything in its place. Heart in rapture.

  Rapture. Yeh, Stef liked the idea of that, and he knew exactly what was coming shortly...not least himself and his sexy, English, uptight boyfriend.

  Speaking of tight, Danny had imagined that occasional usage of dildos might, er, smooth the way…

  He hadn’t banked on being fucked by a guy with a cock that, although not in the freakish category of big, was reasonably substantial. Danny had felt the blood drain from his own cock for a few moments, as he’d gazed at the beautiful image of penile perfection. Stef had seen Danny’s sudden brow furrowing as a translation for ‘there is no way that my virgin hole can take that!’.

  Just as well Danny had been ready, then, to say bye bye to virginity and hello to the joy of being ridden rigid in every room of his house (such as the kitchen table fucks, which had been particularly noisy, wet and incredible). Just as well that Danny had pushed Stef against the shower tiles, steaming hot water spraying over both of them, and urged, nay demanded, that his Frenchman fuck him senseless and fuck him right-now!

  It wasn’t like Stef to get nervous, not with sex, certainly. But this was Danny, and with Danny, everything was different. Especially Stef. His nerves derived more from hurting Danny than his own performance; although, deep down, Stef wondered if being in love with the guy you were fucking kind of blunted the filth of the sex. He needn’t have worried. And so what if Guillaume was, for once, right about something, Stef had reasoned. ‘It’s better when you love someone, baby brother, because then you get back as much as you give; and I’m not just talking about spunk quantities, here’. And yeh, the sex was filthy, the sex was hot and ever so slightly disgraceful; because the sex was beautiful, too.

  The sex was beautiful, because the love was beautiful. And had arrived first, over cafe latte on a rain swept morning in London. Now, Stef released Danny’s rigid cock from his mouth, pressed a gentle kiss on the tip and leaned over Danny, so their tongues could meet and explore. “You’re about to be fucked until you come like the dirty little slut you are...so get on your knees...now.”

  Danny obliged, quickly changing position on the bed, on all fours with his head pressed into the pillow. He felt every inch that dirty slut; and he thanked Stef wholeheartedly for helping him release his inner slut and then some. He heard Stef do his maneuvers with the condom, quick, effortless, experienced. Of course, they’d had the talk. The safe sex talk. Several times. Danny had nothing to worry about. He was as clean as a whistle, albeit a previously unblown one.

  Stef, on the other hand, had to tread carefully with Danny. He knew Danny was sensitive about his own virgin status, not to mention the histrionics and panic attacks that still had surfaced, twice, in the last three, sex hazed days. The first time, when Stef cooked dinner for them and left the kitchen looking like something had exploded in it; Danny had stood and stared in horror, as Stef had stood by the cooker stirring the food. The food was delicious (well, he is French), and Danny loved it, but not before Stef had to again take control and be stern with Danny.

  Also, he was right on the money when he guessed that Danny liked him being all strong and intermittently domineering. So, he’d come to Danny, pushed him against the wall and kissed him until Danny was a quivering, turned on wreck. Holding Danny’s face between his hands, Stef had reminded Danny of what really mattered. “Stop it,” Stef had told him, his face unsmiling, not a trace of lazy, languid humor in his gray eyes, and Danny had swallowed hard, feeling excited and panicked all at the same time. “You’re going to stop this, and we are going to sit down and have a nice meal together, drink some wine, talk, kiss, drink some more wine, kiss, more wine, more kissing, then I’m going to take you to bed, okay?”

  Danny had been barely able to respond, because he thought he might orgasm there and then. Instead of coming, however, he was going; going to the fridge and pulling out the chilled wine, the one Stef had recommended and Danny loved. The night had gone exactly as Stef had said, and that little moment of angst was duly dealt with.

  The second one was a bit more challenging; they hadn’t had a fight (yet) but it was definitely a precursor to the first of their rows, rows that would be erotically charged and end up being pacified by sex. It concerned a throwaway comment Stef made. They’d been lying in bed, snuggled up together, relaxed, temporarily worn out from lovemaking, when Stef had sighed heavily, making Danny ask if he was okay.

  “Course I am, baby.” Then Stef had paused, shrugging slightly, “I’m homesick, that’s all.”

  That’s all! That’s fucking all! Danny’s thought processes then took a seismic leap from his French boyfriend having the temerity to admit he missed France, to a rough translation into ‘I don’t love you, I am going to leave you, I couldn’t care less about you now that I’ve fucked you.’

  And somewhere in that seismic leap, Danny made the assumption that Stef was hinting that he was going back to France…without him. Before Stef had been able to register that his boyfriend was more of a h
andful than even he had imagined, Danny had thrown the duvet back, got out of bed and started pulling on his discarded jeans.

  “What the hell’s wrong?” Stef had asked, sitting up, waiting for Danny’s explanation as to why he suddenly had transformed into the bride of Frankenstein. When no answer was forthcoming, unless you could count several furious looks from Danny, and then a slight huffing sound as he marched towards the bedroom door, Stef was out of bed and stopping Danny leaving with a speed that took Danny momentarily aback. He recovered, though.

  “Let me past, will you! For fuck’s sake, Stef!”

  Stef stood against the door, joyously, fabulously naked, though Danny had tried his best not to register that. Doing so would have spoiled the flounce he had wanted to make out of the room. The flounce that was already spoiled anyway, by Stef’s suddenly rapid understanding of the situation.

  “Not until you tell me what’s wrong!” Stef had thrust back, inclining his head slightly, raising his brows, not allowing his stark nakedness to reduce the impact of his teacher impression. “Come on, spit it out!”

  “Do you have to say everything that relates to sex!”

  “No, Danny, that’s your dirty mind for a change. Now are you going to tell me why you are behaving like some spoilt brat, or will I have to tap into my psychic abilities?”

  “You haven’t got psychic abilities!” Danny had shouted, his face flushed, his body trembling, hating the fact that he was on the brink of tears.

  “I fucking need them with you!” Stef roared back, and Danny tried to barge past Stef who pulled him into his arms. For several moments, Danny struggled but only half-heartedly. After putting up the show of resistance, Danny sniffed and leaned his head on Stef’s shoulder, capitulating willingly. Stef stroked Danny’s hair, kissing his ear, soothing him. “Danny, when I said I was homesick, I meant only that, baby. I am French, in case you hadn’t noticed.” Stef raised his brows suggestively, making Danny volunteer a bleak little smile.

  “But you want to go back to France.” Danny’s voice had been full of fear and sadness, and love.

  Stef had held him closer, tracing his fingers up and down the ridges of Danny’s spine.

  Danny had heard Stef thinking, the whirring of Stef’s mind, trying to say something that would sound both sincere and reassuring. It was the moment that they both needed, and had been avoiding. The moment where they needed to talk about what happened next; what happened next month, next year. Stef knew Danny needed to know, quite naturally, and also knew that Danny being Danny, sweet and tender though he was, was also a walking repository of anxiety and love struck terror. So, when that moment arrived, when they should have talked about the future, Stef used just a few words to make Danny breathe a slow sigh of relief. Hell, the talk could come later.

  “Any good at languages?”

  Danny had pulled back from Stef's caressing to look at him. “Not sure.”

  Stef had pressed his brow to Danny’s, kissing him gently. “Time to find out, babe.”

  After those couple of little emotional hillocks to climb, Stef and Danny had grown closer and more willing to open up with each other. That night, after homesick-gate, they’d showered together, Stef massaging his man’s cock as he’d left love bites on Danny’s neck. It was then that Danny had announced his demand, that he wanted to be fucked by Stef, and fucked right now.

  Fortuitously, Stef was the French equivalent of a boy scout, and was fully prepared...condoms, lube. He knew, of course, that Danny was a virgin. He, however, most assuredly wasn’t but hadn’t been a total slut either, certainly not for the last couple of years. He was aware that Danny thought him to be the reincarnation of a gay Casanova, and certainly Stef had had his rampant moments over the years.

  It was an added complication that Danny was Danny. Stef knew he was going to have to deal with his own jealousy at some point, seeing guys, like the one behind the bar, appraising Danny with unconcealed appreciation. But Danny was very sensitive to the idea that he was inexperienced and Stef had been around the sexual block more than once. In Danny’s mind, Stef’s past was littered with guys who were gorgeous, confident, and sexually athletic, all wrapped up in suntanned, beach friendly bodies. To a degree he was right, but what he wasn’t fully grasping yet was that Stef had grown bored of every single one of them, and not once had even been close to being in love. Till now. Danny had come along and, as the saying goes, rocked Stef’s world.

  No, Danny couldn’t accuse Stef of not...ouch...relaxing him. Welcome to the world of sensuous, slow rimming, Stef style. Danny had been reduced to sobbing, gasping ecstasy as Stef’s tongue had lapped at his quivering, little puckered delight, calling out a string of expletives when Stef’s tongue had fucked him for a truly life enhancing fifteen minutes. Stef hadn’t let Danny jerk off, leaving Danny almost begging to be fucked. Several probing, lube slicked fingers later, Stef’s cock had carefully breached all of what was left of Danny’s resistance.

  Stef had been soothing, loving, gentle. At first. The first time, Stef had moved inside Danny with deliberate care, only thrusting with more vigor when he hit Danny’s bundle of nerves and the world suddenly exploded for Danny. He’d orgasmed noisily, lifting his hips up to meet Stef’s thrusting cock, and that had been enough to tip Stef come-ward too. Danny could barely move for a few moments afterwards, partly because Stef was lying on top of him, breathing harshly, soaked in sweat, and partly because that orgasm had more or less finished off any hesitation at trying anal sex.

  Stef now leaned forward, and traced his tongue over Danny’s flower bud, Danny shuddering and emitting several, pillow muffled ‘Oh Gods!’ in response. Once Stef was inside him, nothing else mattered. For a while, Stef tortured him with achingly slow thrusts, causing Danny to jerk his hips onto Stef’s cock, demanding Stef speed up and fuck him hard. “Danny,” Stef groaned, beads of sweat standing on his brow, “tell me you love me...” Stef quickened the pace , gripping Danny’s hips, as Danny undulated onto Stef’s cock with increasing desperation.

  “Love you?” Danny cried out, his own cock throbbing and threatening to achieve lift off, “I-fucking-adore-you!”

  That was all Stef needed before he erupted, filling Danny with pulse upon pulse of sex, passion and love. Danny reciprocated, barely having to touch himself, and came so hard his teeth clenching groans sounded more pain than passion.

  They collapsed onto the bed, limbs entwined, and kissed each other, softly, tenderly, until they drifted into sleep filled bliss.

  Danny stirred at Stef’s voice, just before he nodded off.

  “You're so beautiful, Mr. Hastings.”

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Danny woke up, stretching, turning his head on the pillow. The bed seemed vast, empty. No Stef.

  But Danny smiled, hugging himself with happiness, as he heard the gentle chink of crockery downstairs. He sat up, rubbed his eyes, yawned with contentment.

  I’m happy, he thought.

  The bedroom door was open, and Danny could hear Stef pottering in the kitchen, making breakfast for them, like he had the previous morning and the one before that, too. Danny got up, pulled on a loose fitting tee shirt, and pajama bottoms (Stef loved the idea of them, telling Danny all he needed was a cravat and a cigarette holder).

  “I don’t smoke,” Danny had commented disingenuously, trying not to sound sniffy that his glamorous boyfriend was ribbing him about his pajamas.

  “Stop splitting hairs,” and Stef had silenced Danny’s retort with a wet, possessive kiss.

  He padded down the stairs, barefooted, yawning again, before emerging into the kitchen. Danny paused just for a second. He didn’t really want Stef to tell him off again for stressing that everything in the kitchen was out of its place (according to Danny’s book on ascetic compulsive obsession). Because Danny knew what would follow would likely be a rigorous fucking over the kitchen table, and think of the mess that had caused. Also, Danny was…well, a bit sore, if he was honest. He loved the filth
of Stef hammering into him but something had to give; or, more accurately, take.

  Stef had been shopping, bringing back croissants at the artisan bakery a three- minute walk from Danny's home. Rich, thick strawberry conserve, fresh orange juice, ground coffee percolating nicely, and a sweet, loving kiss, all adding up to the best breakfast Danny had ever had...with the exception of the previous two, of course.

  Danny came and wrapped his arms now about Stef’s waist, nuzzling tenderly on Stef’s bare shoulder. Yes, another cock delighting thing about Stef; he made breakfast naked from the waist up, with all that lean muscle on display for Danny to trace his fingers over, as he sipped on the great coffee Stef made. Whilst sitting on Stef’s lap, eating and kissing and eating but definitely kissing winning out in that ratio.

  “Don’t get too horny yet, we need to keep our strength up,” Stef murmured, pouring the orange juice into the tumblers. He could feel Danny’s nascent erection starting to flourish against him.

  “We can do both, like yesterday,” Danny encouraged, nibbling at Stef’s ear lobe, more confident now in realizing that he turned Stef on with just about everything he did. Including breathing. But Danny had a point. When he had slathered conserve over Stef’s cock, and had proceeded to lick the jam onto his tongue with sensual slowness, Stef had exploded in a matter of a few minutes. Danny loved how Stef had added that all important protein to a diet of sugar and sex.

  “Come on...table, breakfast,” and Stef used rare willpower to shrug Danny off. Well, that, and he was famished. Sex had always made Stef peckish, but making love to Danny was causing him to feel insatiable in every way imaginable.

  Danny flopped down in the chair opposite Stef. He wondered how long it would take him to get over those little, sharp intakes of breath whenever he looked at his Frenchman. Never, he hoped, or at least, not in this century.

  They ate. Stef had a prodigious appetite, Danny was realizing. For everything. Danny gratefully ate the croissants, suddenly aware he was very hungry. He sipped his coffee and watched Stef. Stef ate heartily. He loved food, he loved cooking it, buying it, talking about it. And cooking for Danny. Danny’s attitude to food was mainly based on it being a source of energy. Stef, being French, had already insisted that Danny mend the dilatoriness of his culinary ways, and learn about food, as well as eating more of it.