Drawn

by Sean Michael

  "I." He spread, tugged a little bit on the silk. "Okay."

  Harrison licked his cock from the base to the tip, where Harrison swirled his tongue around. He stilled, let himself feel that. He loved slit play. Loved it. Harrison chuckled and pressed his tongue right into Giles' slit.

  "Yes." Oh, so good.

  Harrison pressed harder.

  "Love that. Love slit play." He'd never admitted that to a lover before.

  "I know." Harrison smiled up at him. "In fact, I have something special for you."

  "I hadn't told you before." Special? For him?

  "G. I have eyes -- you go nuts anytime I work your tip."

  That made him heat up. "It just feels so good, so big, hmm?"

  "Yeah. Let me get the sound. You're going to love it." Harrison got up. "Don't go anywhere."

  He frowned, watched Harrison go. He wasn't sure what Harrison had said, but what Giles had heard didn't make any sense. Harrison wasn't gone long, coming back with a little case.

  "What's that?"

  "It's a series of sounds that go in your cock."

  "Sounds? Like music?" Was that possible?

  "No, like urethral sound. Its original function was as a medical device. I told you about them, but maybe you were a little distracted at the time." Harrison unzipped the little pencil-case-like container.

  He tried to sit up, to see. "What for? What is it? Will it hurt?"

  Harrison turned the case so he could see the long, thin metal rods, each one slightly thicker than the last. "It's going to blow your mind." Those looked painful. Scary. Shiny. Dangerous. His balls tried to crawl back into his body.

  Harrison reached out and grabbed his prick, thumb playing with his slit. "You love slit play."

  "Yeah, but..." He frowned, hips rocking on the bed.

  "Trust me, G."

  He did, mostly. "You've used them before?"

  "I've seen them used."

  One of his eyebrows went up. That wasn't a yes.

  "I know what I'm doing, G." Harrison began to slick up the metal rod.

  "Harrison. I don't know if this is a good idea..." It was one thing to experiment, another to play with the inside of your cock.

  "Just stay still, G. You'll be fine."

  "It's not your cock in danger!"

  Harrison's hand wrapped around his prick, held it. "It is. Mine. You're mine."

  He blinked. That wasn't what he'd meant at all.

  Smiling, Harrison squeezed his cock, making his slit into an 'o'. "Here we go."

  "I." Wait.

  Wait. Fuck. Harrison set the tip of the sound against his slit, moved it around the outer edge.

  "Please don't hurt me." The words pushed out of him.

  "Shh. Does this hurt?"

  He thought about it, stopped and felt. "No. No, it doesn't."

  "Good. If it does, you tell me." Harrison grabbed a tube of lube, set the long, pointed tip of the tube against his slit, and he pulled away.

  "Trust me, G. Trust me." Harrison pushed lube into his slit, cold, strange, exciting.

  He found himself moaning, pulling at the silk around his wrists.

  "We're starting now." Harrison put the tip of the sound into his slit again, this time letting it drop down more.

  "I. I." His lips opened and closed, over and over.

  "Feel it, G. This is the ultimate slit play."

  He couldn't even think. All he could do was stare. The sound went in and in and in. All the way in. A broken cry left him, and he twisted, trying to get away.

  "G. Look at me." Harrison's hand took his chin and their eyes met. "You are going to love this, but you have to trust me."

  He searched Harrison's eyes, trying so hard not to completely freak out. Harrison held his gaze, eyes solid, sure. Slowly, so slowly, he relaxed back, took a deep breath.

  "Stop worrying and pay attention to how it feels."

  "I'll try." He hated all this... weirdness.

  Harrison began to fuck his slit with the sound. He felt it sliding up and down the inside of his cock, the burn unusual, odd, but so arousing, so fucking intense. Then it settled in him, the little ball at the top keeping it from going any further, the metal touching the whole inside of his cock.

  He gasped for breath, gulping in air, his cock throbbing.

  Harrison nudged the tip of the sound, rubbing it against his slit, moving things inside him. Oh, God.

  "Please. D...don't touch it." He couldn't bear it.

  Harrison nudged it again. "You love slit play."

  "Uh... uh-huh. Don't touch."

  Harrison nudged it again.

  "Oh, God." His fingers clenched, his body trying to come.

  Tugging on the sound, Harrison pulled it partway out, then slid it in again.

  "No. No." His legs kicked, restless.

  "Easy, G." Harrison nudged the ball at the top against his slit again.

  "Help me. Help me. I can't. This is big."

  "It's huge. Let the pleasure go through you. Don't worry about coming."

  "Don't leave me like this." The pressure in the pit of his belly was huge.

  "I won't leave you like this."

  Harrison wasn't taking the sound out, though. Harrison's fingers moved to his balls, tugging them, rolling them. He was going to scream. One finger slid back to find the little barbell back there, twisting it. He did scream then, short and sharp, heels slamming on the mattress.

  "So fucking hot." Harrison's fingers slid farther back, rubbed against his hole.

  He tried to get those fingers inside, needing more pressure. The sound slid up and back down. Then Harrison did it again. His head tossed, and he couldn't catch his breath. The fucking of his slit continued as Harrison's finger pushed into his body.

  "Please. Please. More." Anything.

  Harrison moved the sound faster. The burn settled deep inside him and he threw his head back, screamed. "There you go. That's it. Feel it."

  He screamed again, then again, the sensation in him enormous. Harrison slid two fingers into his ass, but it felt different than usual, more connected to what was going on inside his cock. He spread wider, desperate to get more. A third finger pushed into him, all three going deep, hitting his gland.

  Giles rocked down, working the touch, driving himself crazy, and Harrison used his motions to pull the sound out and in again.

  "Burns." It burned.

  "Good burn, G." It wasn't quite a question.

  "More lube." Please.

  The fingers inside him disappeared, Harrison adding lube to the sound as he pulled it out.

  "Oh. Oh, thank you." The slick was cold and good.

  "Anytime, G. This is supposed to be good."

  He nodded. It was -- huge and good. Harrison's fingers teased as his asshole again.

  "Please. Please touch me." Fuck him. Hard.

  "You're such a needy, pushy man." Harrison's fingers pushed hard into him. "I love it."

  "Yes. More. More, Harrison."

  Harrison carefully let go of the sound, his cock resting against his belly with the little silver ball at the top of it. Then the fingers inside him disappeared again and Harrison moved, settling between his legs. He spread wider, his offer crystal clear. Fuck me. Fuck me now. Harrison grinned down at him and made him wait while a condom was found, the package opened, the latex smoothed down over Harrison's prick.

  "Tease. Always teasing me."

  "Waiting makes things better."

  "Let me feel you, damn it."

  "Pushy, pushy, pushy." Harrison held on another moment, making him wait, so he rubbed his hole over Harrison's cock, trying to tempt the man. "Pushy," Harrison said again.

  "Yes. I need. Quit playing."

  "Shh. When I'm ready."

  "Harrison!"

  "When I am ready."

  He groaned, head shaking, so restless.

  Harrison smiled at him. "Now I'm ready."

  "Make me crazy." His body was going crazy.

  "No, just mak
ing you wait." Harrison pushed against his hole, just barely breaching it.

  He sobbed softly, beginning to shake. "What do you want?"

  "To push you as far as I can." Harrison's prick kept moving deeper, stretching his hole, the burn so welcome, so fucking good.

  "I can't do this. I can't do this right. I can't THINK!"

  "Thinking is overrated." Harrison's cock nudged against his gland. His eyes rolled as lightning shot up his spine. "See?" Harrison pulled slowly out and just as slowly pushed back in.

  The flash of pleasure came again, driving him crazy. Harrison repeated the pull and push, this time nudging the ball at the top of the sound. Words poured out of him -- deep and dark, filthy, desperate -- and still Harrison kept moving, kept touching. Ass and cock, Harrison was torturing both, filling both. He screamed out his pleasure, his frustration, his need.

  Harrison's mouth covered his, pressing his filled prick between them as his shouts were stolen, swallowed. Waves of sensation hit him, and the entire world went away, dissolved. Still kissing him, Harrison pressed a hand between them and pulled out the sound. He sobbed softly, lost and found, all at once. Harrison kept fucking him, thrusting hard and hitting his gland, the kisses stealing every noise he made, every breath he tried to take.

  He came, over and over, his entire body alight.

  Harrison breathed loudly in his ear, low moans joining the sounds. He wasn't sure if Harrison had come; he was captured in his own body. When Harrison slipped from him, he could feel the absence of fullness in his ass, in his cock.

  Tears slipped from his eyes, the emptiness leaving him shaken.

  Harrison wrapped around him, pulling the covers up so they were in a cocoon together. Then his arms were undone, Harrison pressing kisses on his skin and massaging the muscles.

  "Don't leave me right now."

  "I'm not going anywhere, G."

  "Okay." He held on. Tight.

  Harrison's hands slid on him, petting, stroking.

  He closed his eyes, clinging, and he slept.

  Chapter Fourteen

  "Gilly. You have to relax. The show is going to be fine." Marisa handed him a drink, straightened his jacket. Giles swallowed, eyes flashing around the gallery. It was Harrison, how he loved the man, splashed up along the walls. Everywhere. "Oh, there's your man, Gilly."

  He looked to where Marisa was pointing, Harrison having just come in. He watched Harrison look, his heart in his throat. Please don't hate it, he thought. Please don't.

  Harrison looked around, then started moving from picture to picture, taking them in. Giles' hand tightened around the stem of the glass, the crystal creaking.

  Harrison's face lit up when he turned and saw him. "Giles! This is amazing."

  "You like?" He just wanted to run screaming into the night, but he didn't have his shoes on and Marisa had made him promise to be good.

  Harrison wrapped an arm around his waist, tugging him up against the warm, solid body. "I more than like. I knew these were good when I saw them in the studio, but seeing them on display like this is incredible."

  "The red one. The big one in the middle. It's already been taken."

  "Oh." Harrison chuckled, the sound wry. "That's my favorite."

  "Yes." He touched Harrison's wrist. "They'll deliver it at the end of the show."

  Harrison beamed at him. "Thank you."

  "It belongs with you."

  Harrison stroked his cheek. "Like the artist."

  Oh, Harrison did make him feel better. Much better.

  "Do you want wine?" Marisa asked.

  "Sure, thank you. You don't mind if I stick by you instead of mingling, do you, Giles?"

  "Keep him from running off." Marisa pressed a glass of wine into Harrison's hand.

  Harrison smiled as he accepted the glass. "This all seems very familiar." He gave Marisa a wink and squeezed Giles' hip.

  "Yes." Marisa looked around. "The art is different."

  "He's still unbelievably talented." Harrison sounded so proud.

  He smiled, beamed a little. He wanted to believe that. To know it.

  "...completely asinine. This is utter dreck. No class whatsoever." The words floated over the air and Giles tried not to wince.

  Harrison raised an eyebrow and leaned in, murmuring. "Someone not only has no taste, they're rude."

  "They're critics." He shrugged, tried not to let himself listen. But it was hard and getting harder. One unhappy murmur after another, then Marisa started fluttering. They hated his new stuff.

  "Well, they don't know what they're talking about. I love it, G. All of it."

  "Good. You can have whatever doesn't sell." It all belonged to Harrison anyway.

  "Just because a couple of critics don't like it doesn't mean it won't sell." Harrison started rubbing a hand up and down along his back.

  He nodded, but his eyes met Marisa's, and his sister was worried. Really worried.

  "G. Do we need to step into the office for a few minutes?"

  "No. No. I'm okay." If he moved, he would run.

  Gladys Martin came over to him, nose wrinkling. "Giles? Honestly? What is this? This isn't you."

  A tiny ball of shame started growing in his belly, because it was. It was him. And it wasn't good. "I'm trying new things, Gladys."

  "Don't. Do want you're meant to. Leave this... nonsense for art students."

  He was going to crawl under a table.

  "Excuse me. I happen to think it's brilliant."

  "Harrison is a fan." Marisa grabbed Gladys' arm. "Now, sweetie. Come look at the canvases in the back; let me know what you think."

  Marisa moved Gladys away and Giles stood there. Staring out into a sea of ugly faces. "I think I'm going to go home now."

  "It's good stuff, G. Just because it's something new and that old biddy doesn't get it, doesn't mean it's not."

  "I know." Harrison didn't understand. "Can you please tell Marisa I had to go?" He was holding himself together by one thread.

  Harrison shook his head. "No, I'll go with you."

  He touched Harrison's wrist. "I need to go. I need to work and run. I'll call you." Later.

  "No, I'll come with you." Harrison took his hand and started heading toward the door.

  "You're not listening to me." He was going to lose it, run.

  "You want to leave so we're leaving." They were almost at the door now.

  "...like he just masturbated on the canvas. There's no art in these."

  Giles whimpered softly, then took off, heading out the door as fast as he could.

  Harrison came after him, hand on his arm. "Giles!"

  "Please. Go away. You can't help this. I need to work." He needed to go.

  "This is exactly what I can help with." Harrison grabbed his hand and headed them toward the parking lot behind the gallery.

  "Go away. I have to run. I have to work. They. I. Oh, God." He tried to pull away, tried to scream.

  "Let me get you home -- or to the club -- and you can kick and scream and shout as much as you want to."

  "I can't." He couldn't breathe. The shame, the worry, they were bashing at him. Harrison didn't say anything else, just hustled him over to the car and muscled him into it. His fingers tore at his skin, at his face.

  Harrison growled. "Stop that." The man took off his tie and looped it around his wrists, then tied the ends to the headrest post behind his head.

  "What are you doing?" He pulled, tugged at the tie, wigged out.

  "I'm not letting you hurt yourself. You remember the spanking. You know I can give you the pain you need to shut out everything else. I'm taking you home to give you that."

  "I can't do this!" He threw his head back, screamed at the top of his lungs, trying to drown out the voices snarling at him.

  See? You were happy. See?

  "You can." Harrison turned on the car and started driving. "We'll be home in two minutes."

  You thought you could be in love and work. You can't have both. You'll never h
ave both again.

  He turned his face into his arm, hiding. Harrison spoke quietly to him, but he couldn't hear the words. Then they stopped in front of Harrison's place. He looked at the beautiful house. He'd been happy there.

  Harrison got out of the car, then came around, undid the tie from the seat, but left his hands bound together. "Come on. Let's go clear your head."

  He shook his head. "There's no happy ending here."

  "Yes, there is. Because I don't believe in this suffering for your art crap. It's talent and hard work and inspiration. Just because those lousy critics don't like this batch doesn't make the paintings or you worthless. Now get up and come in with me or I will carry you in."

  He looked at Harrison, stared. "Get out of my head."

  "Nope. I'm not going anywhere." Harrison pulled him out of the car and raised an eyebrow at him.

  He stared at Harrison, caught between hysteria and fury. "I have to do this."

  "You want to be carried, no problem." Harrison bent and put a shoulder in his chest, standing with him over the man's shoulder.

  "I have to fuck this up!" Didn't Harrison understand?

  "Bullshit." Harrison carried him up the front steps, carried him inside.

  "Let me go!"

  Harrison's shoulder pushed into his belly, stealing his breath. He heard the door lock, and then Harrison moved through the house and up the stairs and down the hall into the big bedroom.

  "I can't have both!" Hated it. People hated it, and he'd been so happy. So proud of the new canvases. Why did they have to hate it?

  "You can. It's bullshit that you can't." Harrison tossed him onto the big bed. "Besides, what do you care what other people think of your art? What happened to the misunderstood artist?"

  "I have to sell it! Did you see Marisa's face?" It felt so good to scream back.

  "I know a half dozen people who can afford it who'd love your work."

  "Bullshit! It's CRAP! DID YOU HEAR THEM?" He was throwing a full-fledged temper tantrum, hands and feet flailing.

  "I heard them. They're assholes. They just hate anything new. Let them get used to it." Harrison grabbed the tie and pulled his arms up over his head, knotting the fabric to the headboard.

  "Let me go, you prick!"

  "No." Harrison reached out and twisted his right nipple ring through his shirt.