From Morocco to Paris

by Lydia Nyx

  “Yeah, I like that.”

  Zane slid down on the pillows a little, closing his eyes to absorb the soft lilt of Davey’s voice.

  “Are you on the bed right now? Are you sitting up?”

  “Sorta lying down.”

  “That’s good, I can crawl up between your legs.”

  Zane spread his legs, glad Davey couldn’t see him.

  “What would you do then?” Zane asked.

  “First, I’d lick your balls, while I ran my hands over your thighs, all up and down them. Can you feel my tongue? How hot and wet it is?”

  Zane shivered and slid a hand down his stomach. “I can imagine it,” he said.

  “Then I’d lick all the way up your shaft.” A wet lapping sound on the other end. “Swirl my tongue all around the head…nice and slow, just the way you like it.”

  Zane squirmed. He hadn’t touched himself. Yet.

  “Tell me to suck your cock, Zane.”

  Zane flushed. He forced his voice to function.

  “Suck my cock, Davey.”

  “Mmm.” A soft slurping sound. Probably sucking on his fingers. He spoke again, “I’m sliding my mouth over it. Taking it all the way down my throat, nice and slow, tightening my lips around it. You like that?”

  “Yes,” Zane whispered. He brushed his fingertips against the head of his cock.

  “I’m sliding my mouth on it, up and down, over and over. You can feel the head sliding over my tongue. I’m looking up at you to see how you’re enjoying it.”

  Zane could imagine those blue eyes gazing up at him. He wrapped his hand around his cock.

  “I’m putting my fingers in your hair,” Zane murmured.

  “Yes,” Davey said breathily. “Get a nice big handful. Hold onto it. Pull it. Force my head down, make me take your cock.”

  Zane began stroking, imagining Davey’s mouth around his shaft, though his hand wasn’t nearly as wet or hot.

  “I’m pulling your hair,” Zane said, struggling for words. “Fucking your face.”

  “Yes! I’m sucking you harder now, swallowing all your cock. Tell me what you want to do to me.”

  Zane blurted the words out before he knew they were coming. “I wanna suck you off too.”

  Silence on the other end. Zane opened his eyes and drew in a sharp breath, staring at the ceiling. His hand stilled.

  “Oh God,” Davey’s voice came in a heated rush. “Do you? You want to suck my cock?”

  Zane figured he couldn’t retract the admission.

  “Yes,” Zane said.

  “Have you ever done it before?”

  His macho pride, hiding in the closet, muttered to him to just go on and tell him, he might as well.

  “When I was younger,” Zane said. “But it’s not like I haven’t had it done to me enough that I don’t understand the mechanics.”

  “God. I’d hold you by that pretty brunette mop while you did it.”

  Zane would hardly call his hair “pretty,” or a “mop,” but he didn’t argue.

  “Yeah?” Zane asked. “You’d have to guide me.”

  “I would. I can just picture your mouth around me, too. That sexy stubble on your chin rubbing my balls.”

  “Not sure I could take it that deep.”

  “I’d teach you how to relax your throat.”

  “I’d like to know how you taste.”

  Davey groaned. “I’d be leaking so bad for you. You’d get a good taste. I’d hold my cock for you so you could take it.”

  Zane closed his eyes and resumed stroking, hideously vulnerable, but overwhelmingly turned on.

  “When I got done sucking you, I’d fuck you,” Zane said. “Nice and hard.”

  “Would you?” Davey asked. Zane clearly heard the click of a bottle cap opening. “You could finger my ass while you suck me, get it ready for your cock. I like that.”

  “Is that what you’re going to do now?”

  “Stuff my fingers up my ass and pretend they’re your cock? Yes.”

  Zane slid further down on the pillows, abandoning all pretense. He tucked the phone between his shoulder and ear and went to work on his cock with full intensity, sliding one hand down to cup and knead his balls.

  “I’d put your knees over my shoulders,” he told Davey. “You’ve got gorgeous fucking legs.”

  “You like them? I’d love to put them over your shoulders. You can lick them while you fuck me.”

  Zane moaned, stroking harder, imagining Davey beneath him, his legs in the air.

  “I’d put them all the way back and push my cock into you,” Zane said.

  Davey grunted and then gasped. “Yes, just like that. That big fucking hillbilly cock inside me, spreading me.”

  Those words nearly sent Zane right over the edge. He moaned, trying to figure out something to say, all the blood gone from his brain to his dick.

  “Fuck me,” Davey begged, his voice so intense Zane could almost feel his breath against his ear. “Make me yell.”

  “That’s what I’m going to do.” Zane found the words and let them go in a rolling, heedless babble, “I’m pounding into you, fucking you so hard you can feel me in your throat. You like that? You want it harder? Tell me.”

  “Yes! Fuck me harder! So fucking hard!”

  Zane gasped, his cock slick beneath his gripping fingers, throbbing, his balls tightening.

  “Say my name,” Zane demanded.

  “Zane!” Davey wailed. “Zane, fuck me!” His voice grew softer then, low and hissing, “I’m your fucking bitch. You like that? You like turning me into a begging, pleading bitch for your cock?”

  “I do. You’ve got such a dirty fucking mouth. I love it.”

  “Come all over me,” Davey said. Zane heard his grunts and sighs and imagined what his fingers were busy doing. “Pull it out of my ass and come all over me — all over my stomach and my chest and my nipples; drench me in it.”

  “Yes.” Zane could barely speak, curling his toes, the tension inside him drawing taut, ready to snap. “All over that perfect skin of yours. Then maybe I’ll lick it off. Suck it off your nipples, lick it out of your navel.”

  “Oh God! Do it. Cover me in it!”

  “Come for me first.” Zane had him on a string, and he enjoyed being in control for once. “I want you to come all over yourself so I can mix it together with my tongue.”

  “Fuck!”

  Zane heard a soft thump. Davey must have dropped the phone, because his subsequent cries were muffled. Zane closed his eyes and nearly lost the phone himself as his cock jerked, liquid heat spilling over his hand. He imagined the fluid hitting Davey’s skin, Davey’s body writhing beneath him, hair and sweat and clutching hands.

  “Zane?” The phone had been reclaimed.

  “Coming for you,” Zane shuddered, a last spurt hitting his stomach. “Coming on you.”

  Davey moaned.

  They panted together for a minute, not saying anything. Zane slumped against the bed, staring dazedly at the ceiling. His cock twitched, the sticky warmth on his belly congealing.

  Davey finally spoke. “Shall we smoke a metaphorical cigarette now?”

  “Fuck that,” Zane said. He propped the phone against his shoulder and reached for the bedside table. “I’m having a real one.”

  He heard Davey moving around on the other end. Crinkling, the click of a lighter. Zane put a cigarette between his lips and flipped the lid on his Zippo. He’d stopped smoking years ago but couldn’t get rid of the lighter as it had been a gift from his brother.

  “Mmm,” Davey moaned, and Zane heard him blow out the smoke. “So, shall I come to Marrakech for the cocksucking? I mean sightseeing?”

  Zane smirked and lit his cigarette.

  “Sorry,” Davey said. “You can see how I’d get the two words confused.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Absolutely what? I should come?”

  “You just did.” Zane tossed the lighter on the bed and took a deep drag.

 
“To Marrakech, stupid.”

  Zane blew out the smoke. “How can you call me names after we just fucked?” He tried to sound wounded.

  “If I didn’t, you’d think I was in love with you.”

  Zane rubbed his thumb over the bridge of his nose. “Whatever. Come.”

  “I want to hear you say it.”

  Zane frowned. “Why?”

  “Just say it. Ask me to come.”

  Zane sighed, took another drag off the cigarette, blew the smoke toward the ceiling, and then said softly, “Will you please come to Marrakech, Davey?”

  “Yes.” Shifting on the other end. “I’ll come to Marrakech, but right now I’m going to the bathroom to clean your come off me. Well, mine. But I can pretend it’s yours.”

  “Sounds like a good idea.” Zane looked down at the glistening trails on his belly. “I guess I’ll see you in a few days.”

  “Goodnight, Zane,” Davey said, soft and sultry. “Sleep tight.”

  A click and the line went dead.

  Zane turned the phone off and finished smoking his cigarette, gazing up at the ceiling in the heavy silence. He imagined Davey, miles away, slipping into the shower. He liked the idea all too well, even more the thought of slipping in behind him. The end of filming couldn’t come quick enough.

  Chapter 9

  Davey failed to mention two key things about his coming to Marrakech: one, others were coming with him, and two, they would be arriving at seven a.m.

  “Aren’t you dressed yet?” Davey asked. He stood in the hallway, wearing a black tank top, shorts, white sneakers, and the most ridiculous, enormous floppy straw hat Zane had ever seen. A camera dangled from his neck.

  Surrounding Davey were Elliot and Cristiano, Rory, and two people Zane didn’t know well enough to recall their names. All of them looked as fresh as daisies and were dressed for sightseeing. Cristiano wore huge, bug-eyed sunglasses. Zane thought he might be having a nightmare.

  “It’s seven a.m.,” Zane croaked, painfully aware he stood there in just his boxers. “What the fuck is going on?”

  “God,” Davey sighed. “There’s not a minute to waste!”

  Rory grinned. “I thought I’d hang out with you guys, after all the fun we had in Marrakech last time.”

  Zane didn’t recall having much fun with Rory in Marrakech last time. He recalled walking down a street with him.

  “Come on,” Cristiano said and chuckled. “Get dressed and we’ll have some breakfast. You’ll feel more sociable then.”

  Zane didn’t feel more sociable at breakfast. The two people he didn’t know were Davey’s costuming friends, a woman named Alicia and a man named Jared. Davey took pictures of everyone at the breakfast table and refused to remove his huge hat.

  “Sit the fuck down!” Zane told him. “God, let us eat.”

  “We’ll never be here again like this, all together!” Davey said dramatically, standing at the head of the table.

  Rory threw toast at him and told him to sit the hell down. Zane smirked and started enjoying his breakfast.

  Davey had an itinerary, which covered all the important sightseeing spots in the city. Stepping out into the already blazing sun after breakfast, Zane pulled out his cigarettes. Davey swept past him and snatched the pack away.

  “Hey!” Zane said.

  “You’re gonna need your breath today. Lots of walking.”

  They started in the nearby square of Jemaa el Fna, the heart of the city with the medina, and did some shopping. After the square, they visited the Koutoubia Mosque and explored the grounds, not being allowed inside the mosque itself since they weren’t Muslims. Davey had several museums on his list and during their tour through the second one they lost Cristiano and Elliot, who said they were going back to the square and would meet them for lunch. After the museums, they decided to eat, and Zane’s mood improved considerably. He had a few drinks and felt even better. He even started to like Davey’s stupid hat.

  During lunch everyone declared they wanted to go different ways and the itinerary crumbled. Davey became livid.

  “I made this up so we could see everything!” Davey cried as he waved his rumpled paper. “This is our last chance!”

  “Why can’t we all just go where we want?” his friend Jared asked.

  “Because we’re supposed to do it as a group!”

  “Oh, come on, Davey,” Rory said. “We can see everything and not all have to be together!”

  Zane suspected Rory had something up his sleeve and confirmed this when, after Davey relented sulkily, he nudged Zane’s leg under the table and leaned toward him.

  “We’re gonna hit this bar we saw down the street,” Rory whispered. “Come along.”

  When they stepped back out into the midday sun, Rory cleared his throat. “We’re going this direction.” He thumbed over his shoulder. “Come with us, Zane.”

  “All right.” Zane moved casually in their direction but Davey grabbed his arm.

  “No, you’re coming with me!” Davey said. “We’re going to El Badi Palace!”

  Zane watched sorrowfully as the others walked off, casting guilty looks back at him.

  “Aw, Mommy, I been good. Can’t I go with my friends?” Zane complained. He grew irritated as Davey pulled him in the opposite direction. “God, you and your fucking itinerary! Let go of me!”

  Davey looked over his shoulder, and then let go of him and sighed.

  “Damn, I thought we’d never get rid of them,” he said.

  Zane stared at him. Davey smirked and crumpled up his paper. They stood on the sidewalk of a busy street, people weaving around them.

  “You don’t wanna go to the palace, do you?” Davey asked.

  “Why’d you bring everyone then, if you wanted to be alone with me!” Zane demanded.

  “Are you mad I did?” Davey asked.

  “Only because they saw me nearly naked at seven a.m.!” Zane sighed and looked up the street, but the others were gone. “Seriously, why’d you bring them then, and insist on a stupid schedule?”

  “Because it was nice for them to come. I knew they wouldn’t stick to the itinerary. But they should see the city one last time too.” Davey locked arms with Zane. “Now, let’s do some sightseeing!”

  “Stop,” Zane said and wrenched his arm away. “And take off that stupid hat.”

  “You don’t like my hat?” Davey tugged at the brim. “Alicia gave it to me. I made her take the flowery band off first, though.”

  Their “sightseeing” led them to a small, sparsely populated café at the end of a short street. The café was cool and breezy inside, a pleasant surprise. Huge windows facing a lush garden let in the smell of flowers. They sat at a small square table in the back of the café and Davey ordered them mint tea.

  “God, this is good,” Zane said, sipping from a delicate, dark blue glass with gold filigree around the rim. “I’ve never had anything quite like it.”

  “It’s the national drink.” Davey pushed Zane’s confiscated cigarettes toward him. “You’re allowed to smoke in here.”

  Zane didn’t, only because he didn’t want to ruin the taste of the tea.

  Sitting in peace and quiet with Davey made Zane uneasy, fearing Davey would make him pay tenfold for the reprieve, but he tried to roll with the moment. They sipped their tea, Davey gazing out at the garden. He had taken off his hat and put it on a chair of the table next to them.

  “Elliot and Cristiano seem cozy,” Zane finally said, turning his glass between his fingers.

  “I think they’re slowly giving up trying to hide it. They haven’t gotten too much flak. I think it’s because half the guys on the movie, gay or straight, would do Cristiano.”

  “I probably would,” Zane said and took a sip of his tea.

  Davey focused on him and smiled. “Have you missed me?”

  “How could I miss you?” Zane licked his lips and put the glass down. “It’s only been three days. And I’ve talked to you every single night.”

>   “Three days is enough time to miss somebody.” Davey slid down in his chair, and Zane felt his foot touch his ankle. “Even if you do talk to them every night.”

  Zane pretended not to notice Davey’s foot trying to nudge up the leg of his jeans.

  “Did you miss me?” Zane asked.

  “Every minute.” Davey locked gazes with him. Zane glanced away. “My body missed yours,” Davey said.

  “How florid.”

  “But true.”

  Zane looked back at him. A little smile tugged at Davey’s lips, his eyes fixed and bright.

  “Why do you keep running away from me?” Davey asked. “I’m not asking you to fall in love with me. I’m not even asking you to be gay. I’m just asking you to be with me, while there’s still time.”

  He stroked the toe of his shoe up the front of Zane’s calf, tracing his shinbone.

  “What does ‘being with you’ entail, exactly?” Zane asked.

  “Just let yourself go. Enjoy it. I think you’d have a wonderful time and discover things about yourself you never knew.”

  Such discoveries sounded dangerous to Zane, and he didn’t want to go there, not now at least. Maybe never, if the ghost of his father had its way. Davey sat up and then stood. Zane looked up at him questioningly. He pulled his chair next to Zane’s chair and Zane glanced around nervously.

  “Davey. Homosexuality is actually illegal here, do you realize that?”

  Davey plopped down in his chair, close enough their legs brushed.

  “We’re not going to fuck on the table,” Davey said and pulled his tea over in front of him. “This is what I mean. Can’t you just enjoy me sitting here with you? My closeness? My scent?”

  Zane took a nervous sip. He couldn’t actually smell Davey over the scent of the garden and the aroma of his tea.

  “Just, don’t make a scene. I don’t wanna go to prison in a foreign land.”

  Davey completely ignored Zane’s trepidation and started talking about shooting, about going to Cairo, as amicably and comfortably as if their knees weren’t touching under the table, the simple contact drawing all Zane’s attention. Slowly Zane realized he could smell Davey’s shampoo as the breeze from the garden stirred his hair. He could smell the sweat-and-soap odor of his skin as well. Zane had the sudden wild urge to reach over and tug up Davey’s shirt and draw his knuckles along his ribs.