From Morocco to Paris

by Lydia Nyx

  “Do you feel more comfortable now?” Davey asked after a while.

  “I suppose,” Zane said. He looked cautiously at Davey and then forced the words out he’d had stuck in his head since they sat down. “Can we talk about this, though? I want you to understand something. Just because I don’t hang all over you in public doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy being intimate with you.”

  “Being intimate with me?” Davey arched an eyebrow. “What does that mean to you, being ‘intimate?’ Does it mean fucking me?”

  “It means being with you, like you said.” Zane leaned in closer, lowering his voice, “Davey, I’m not your boyfriend. We’re not in love.”

  “I know,” Davey whispered back. “But we are fucking.”

  Zane realized the conversation, as usual, was pointless. He finished his tea and made to move away but Davey stilled him with a hand on his knee.

  “If you let yourself, right now, what would you most like to do?” Davey asked.

  Zane looked down at Davey’s hand under the edge of the table, resting on his leg. Not squeezing or rubbing, just sitting there. Zane swallowed, his tongue thick in his mouth. They were going to get arrested, and he’d have to tell his mother he got put in prison for being gay in Morocco.

  “I don’t know,” Zane said.

  “Yes, you do. You were thinking about it while I was talking. What would you do? Tell me now.” Davey’s voice grew softer, fingers gently squeezing, “Show me.”

  Zane looked up, across the café. They were nearly alone, tucked away in their little corner. He could hear the leaves rustling in the garden. The breeze touched the back of his neck, caressing his skin in soft gusts. If it would make Davey happy…

  Zane didn’t realize the effect the act would have on him as well. He tucked his hand under Davey’s arm. Davey looked down between them curiously. Zane tugged the side of his tank top up and ran his knuckles along bare, warm skin. The hard ridges of his ribs slid under his fingers.

  “Oh,” Davey said breathily. He tightened his fingers on Zane’s knee.

  Zane didn’t know what to say. Davey’s skin, while a familiar thing, felt inexplicably new. Heat rushed through his veins, waking up every part of him.

  “You want to go back to the hotel?” Davey murmured. He slid his hand caressingly over Zane’s knee.

  “Yes, but finish your tea first.”

  Davey sipped slowly. Zane stroked his fingers up and down Davey’s side and then tucked one in the top of his shorts, exploring the sweat-damp flesh below his waistband. Davey leaned toward him, hand resting on Zane’s knee still, sometimes rubbing, sometimes squeezing. The tendons in Davey’s neck tensed and showed in hard relief, and if Zane had the guts he would have sunk his teeth into one.

  “We better stop so we can actually stand up at some point,” Davey said with a soft chuckle.

  Zane nodded and slipped his hand from under the tank top. Davey’s nipples were hard against the fabric. Zane looked away and tried to think of something mundane — he started adding fractions in his head, knees pressed together under the table.

  Finally they did get up, and the walk back to the hotel seemed strangely slow and dreamy, strolling side by side. Zane gazed at everything around him, drawn to the brightness of the buildings in the afternoon sun. Davey’s arm brushed his, at one point their fingers ghosting across each other. Davey carried his hat, his hair shifting on his shoulders. As they stepped through the door of the hotel, Zane slid his hand down Davey’s back, tangling his fingers in the silken strands for a moment.

  In Zane’s room, Davey tossed his hat in a chair and walked over to the open windows.

  “I’m going to miss the sultry air here,” Davey said with a sigh.

  Zane kicked his shoes off and pulled his bracelets off one wrist. He lifted the other arm and paused, looking down at his watch. He walked over to Davey.

  “Let me see,” Zane said softly, touching Davey’s left hip.

  Davey looked down, then back up at him curiously. Zane tapped a finger against his watch, indicating the conversation they’d had on the phone about the mark on Davey’s hip. Davey smiled and undid his shorts.

  A faint pink mark marred the smooth skin over Davey’s hipbone, close to his groin.

  “There’s not much left of it,” Davey said, running a finger over the discolored flesh.

  Zane touched the mark as well. He could see the faint lines where the links of his watch band had rubbed in.

  “Did it hurt?” Zane asked.

  “Only if I touched it.”

  “Did you?”

  “All the time.”

  Zane moved in front of him. Dust glittered in the black weave of Davey’s tank top, and Zane pulled the fabric up over his chest. Davey’s nipples were still hard, and he gasped as Zane latched onto one with his mouth, sucking.

  “Yes, that’s it,” Davey said.

  A wide, low chair with an extended seat sat next to the windows, big enough to accommodate both of them. Davey’s mouth tasted like mint tea, and Zane explored slowly and fully — his tongue, his teeth, the soft, wet insides of his lips. He kissed him until he felt confident, and then worked his way down, nervous but determined. He paused at Davey’s nipples again, stiff, dark little peaks against his dusky skin. When Zane finished giving each one another suck he looked up.

  “You’ll have to tell me,” Zane whispered. “Show me.”

  Davey caressed his cheek. He said breathily, “You’re doing fine so far.”

  “I’m not doing much yet.”

  Zane continued downward, tasting Davey’s skin, salty with sweat, bitter with soap. He swirled his tongue around Davey’s navel; he felt the soft hair on his lower belly against his chin and followed the line downward. Davey lifted his hips, and together they pulled down his shorts and underwear . Zane smelled his musk, tantalizing and alarming at the same time. Davey’s firm, flushed cock was plenty long and thick despite Zane’s teasing before he left for Marrakech — in fact, gauging the thickness for his mouth, Zane thought he would probably make a fool of himself.

  Davey tangled his fingers in Zane’s hair. “Take it slow,” he said. His eyelids drooped, long lashes darkening his gaze. “You know how it’s done; just relax.”

  Zane stroked him first, Davey’s cock hot and slick as he smeared the copious fluid leaking from the head down the shaft. Zane licked his fingertips, and they tasted tangy. Davey breathed shallowly, quivering.

  “You like how I taste, don’t you?” Davey asked. “You’re always tasting me.”

  “You have a certain delicious appeal.” Zane shifted up a bit. “Let me get a good taste.”

  “Wait.” Davey gripped his wrist. “You have some oil or lotion or something?”

  “Why?” Zane asked and arched an eyebrow, trying to ignore the absurdity of chatting while Davey’s cock twitched and strained next to his cheek

  “I want you to put your fingers in me.”

  Zane got up, his jeans undone, shirt askew, and found some lotion in his travel bag. He pulled his shirt off. Davey pushed his shorts and underwear the rest of the way off and took his shirt off as well. When Zane returned to the chair, Davey had one leg draped over the arm, so very casual in his aroused beauty.

  “You are something else,” Zane said as he crawled back on the chair, between Davey’s spread thighs. He’d brought a towel along with the lotion.

  “What sort of something?”

  Davey wiggled, adjusting his hips. Zane tucked the bottle of lotion between the cushion and the arm of the chair.

  “Something that kicks the hell out of my resolve,” Zane said.

  Even being rusty in practice, Zane knew the mechanics. He opened his mouth awkwardly wide, and once he took Davey in, he just had to focus on not choking, not scraping his teeth. He started a halting rhythm. Davey moaned, hand fisted in Zane’s hair. Davey tasted salty and pungent, his thickness compelling and almost overwhelming, spreading Zane’s jaws, the head nudging the roof of his mouth. Davey grip
ped the base.

  “Zane,” Davey said huskily, “for being bad at this, you’re doing pretty good.”

  Zane continued with slow up-and-down movements. The weight of Davey’s hand on the back of his head, though bothersome at first, felt reassuring. Finally, he had to take a break to rest his jaw and reached for the lotion.

  Davey looked absolutely engulfed in pleasure, skin flushed and glistening with sweat, eyes half-lidded. He spread his legs wider, draping the other one over the other arm of the chair. Zane opened the lotion.

  “Just relax,” he murmured, feeling more in control.

  Davey arched off the chair, roving his hands restlessly over himself as Zane filled him with one, then two lotion-slick fingers. The tight heat inside him spurred Zane’s desire. Zane took him in his mouth again, slow and careful so as not to overwhelm. Davey squirmed and writhed so much Zane had difficulty maintaining the task.

  Zane finally slid his mouth off and opted to work his fingers and just give Davey’s cock occasional strokes and licks lest he get his jaw broken. Davey clung to the chair back above him, eyes closed, mouth open. He looked painfully beautiful.

  “I’m ready,” Davey finally said breathily. He opened his eyes and gazed at Zane, their blue depths tempestuous. “I need you to fuck me,” Davey said.

  “I need to fuck you, too.”

  Zane slipped his fingers out and reached over the side of the chair and grabbed up the towel. After wiping his hand, he stood and removed his jeans and underwear while Davey watched.

  “You want me to get on my knees?” Davey asked.

  “No, like this is fine.” Zane crawled back on the chair and hooked his arms under Davey’s knees, pushing them back. “Just like on the phone.”

  Davey gasped and then cried out as Zane slid into him, smooth and easy. He clung to the chair back again, eyes wide, locking their gazes, an intense moment of connection. A spark of terror erupted in Zane at what that wide-eyed look opened up in him.

  They fucked hard and fast, like always, yet the experience felt unbearably deep and powerful this time. Zane took what he wanted, what he really wanted, and the emotional connection created a certain force behind every thrust, making him shudder and Davey moan deliriously. Zane thought Davey’s neck must surely hurt in his doubled-up position but he didn’t complain, in fact he begged for more. Zane worked himself into a frenzy, a haze of desire clouding all rational thought and driving him with pure need and instinct.

  “Yes!” Davey’s voice came out almost a sob. “God, this is how I’ve always wanted you to fuck me!”

  Davey came first, without any stimulation to his cock, which Zane found amazing. The way he thrashed and yelled and his eyes rolled back in his head, Zane thought he’d killed him. The clenching around Zane’s cock and wet heat splattering his stomach sent him over the edge as well, and he pounded into Davey, filling him over and over in hot, nearly agonizing spurts.

  “God,” Davey panted.

  Zane slumped over him, trying to catch his breath as well. “You’re telling me.”

  Afterward, they lay tangled in the chair, slick with sweat and other things. Davey caressed his hands over Zane’s damp flesh.

  “That wasn’t so bad, now was it?” Davey asked.

  “It was intense,” Zane replied. The taste of Davey’s cock still lingered on his tongue. “God.”

  “I told you if you let yourself go you’d find out things about yourself you never knew.”

  He had been right — so incredibly, painfully right.

  ***

  The lights of the city stretched out in the distance, fading toward the shadowy mountains on the horizon that arched against the blackened sky. Zane stood at the window, the cool night air on his skin, a forgotten cigarette burnt to the filter in his hand. He heard shifting on the bed behind him, then the sound of feet slapping on the floor. Hands slid over his chest, a warm body pressed to his back.

  “This suits you,” Davey murmured.

  Zane wore his djellaba, fastened only at the waist. He shifted, noticed the cigarette, and ground the butt out in the ashtray on the windowsill.

  “So I’ve been told,” Zane said.

  Davey roamed his hands lazily over Zane’s chest, over the djellaba, beneath the soft folds.

  “I’ll miss this place too,” Zane said softly. “I’ve never been anywhere more beautiful.”

  “Me either.” Davey’s warm breath seeped through the fabric over Zane’s shoulder.

  Davey quit moving his hands and rested one lightly on Zane’s chest, over his heart. They were silent for a few minutes, the stillness broken only by the sound of the wind and the subdued noises of the midnight city.

  “Davey,” Zane finally said softly. “I can’t do this, you know I can’t.”

  “Why?” Davey asked, just as softly.

  Zane felt panicked now, having his emotional barriers kicked down. “I’m too scared. Of the future. Of the past. I just…can’t. This isn’t how it was supposed to be. It was never supposed to go this far.”

  “But it has.”

  “But I can’t take it any further, Davey. Sex is fine, but things are getting complicated.” Even as he said these words, trying to make them sound confident, his heart twisted.

  Davey was silent a moment then he said, “It doesn’t matter.” He rested his cheek on Zane’s shoulder, and his voice vibrated against his back. “You do what you need to, and I’ll endure it. I’m not asking anything of you.”

  “That makes me a horribly selfish person. It’s not fair to you.”

  “Unrequited love is as old as humanity.” Davey lifted his head and removed his hand from Zane’s chest. “You’re not doing anything that hasn’t been done by a million people before you.”

  Zane tried to turn but Davey stopped him, playing with his hair.

  “And people have gotten over it since the beginning of time,” Davey said. He tugged Zane’s hair gently and released him. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head over it.”

  Zane turned and watched Davey walk back to the bed, his bed, watched him crawl under the covers.

  “Davey, I just — “

  “Stop talking about it. Everything will be all right; I’ll make sure of it.”

  The dull light through the windows glowed softly on Davey’s face, and he smiled before settling down. No invitation to come to bed, no entreaty. Simply a bare pillow and an open spot Zane could take or leave as he chose.

  Zane stood at the window a while longer, not looking at the city but with his hand over his eyes, elbow resting on the wall. Tomorrow, Cairo and the end of their crazy, exotic romp, if he had any say. Soon he’d have his head about him again, concentrating on his work, concentrating on his education. Soon he could go back to sleeping alone, instead of crawling into bed with Davey.

  PART TWO

  Cairo: Shifting Sands

  Cairo resembled Morocco in a key way — a striking dichotomy of ancient majesty alongside modern chaos, a city both breathtakingly old and cutting-edge modern, sharp enough to make the casual visitor bleed. The streets were uncomfortably crowded, the traffic overwhelming anything Zane had ever seen in the States. The oppressive heat, combined with unrelenting human bedlam, made his head spin.

  Most of the shooting was scheduled to take place twenty kilometers southwest of central Cairo near Giza, where the Battle of the Pyramids would be reenacted. Preparation had begun weeks before, and Saul hoped to have the area ready for filming by the time they arrived. However, in a case of fate ignoring the plans of mere mortals, setbacks and delays in shipping and set building saw the area a week or two from completion when they arrived. Saul had use of a studio in downtown Cairo, so while he waited he cobbled together several scenes and got them in the can. Zane admired how he rearranged things so no valuable time was lost. He took thorough notes and tried to get as much face time with the director as he could.

  However, with little work for Elliot — meaning little work for Zane — sightseeing took
up large portions of the day. There were amazing museums, markets, and palaces to visit, not to mention the pyramids. There were also fabulous bars and clubs and plenty of people to join Zane in touring them. Davey, however, wasn’t one of those people.

  From the moment they arrived in Cairo, and even before, Davey began distancing himself from Zane. Zane wasn’t sure if Davey was embarrassed, angry, or simply decided to “get over it” as he’d said. Zane didn’t ask questions. Probably better for both of them.

  So why then did Zane feel like he’d lost his best friend? Or at least, a partner in crime?

  Even others noticed Davey no longer played the part of Zane’s shadow. Rory had mysteriously latched onto Zane and Zane allowed the interest, because being friends with Rory got him closer to Saul.

  Over breakfast one morning, Rory asked, “Where’s your better half? Did you have a fight?”

  “How should I know where he is?” Zane replied testily from behind his paper — some of the articles were in English. “It’s not my fucking turn to baby sit him.”

  Afterward, Zane forced himself to get over his irritation and asked out the girl from the camera crew who’d told him the djellaba suited him. Her name was Stephanie.

  “She’s hot,” Elliot told Zane, while they were shopping in a souk together. “But you’re not gonna hit the town with Davey?”

  “Why is everyone so fucking worried about Davey?” Once again, Zane was seeking out gifts for his family, though some jewelry had caught his eye. “When did I become his nanny?”

  Elliot arched an eyebrow. “Lovers’ spat?”

  “Very funny. Why don’t you go find Cristiano? I’m sure he appreciates your humor.”

  “I’m looking for a gift for him, actually,” Elliot said and leaned over a jewelry case. “Oh, that’s a nice bracelet. You think he’d like that?”

  “How should I know?”

  “Hm, no. I think that’s more something for Davey. Don’t you agree? Kind of bold and sassy?”

  Zane left him, hoping he got mugged.