Séptima Luna

by Gabbo De la Parra

  The throbbing in his forehead didn’t diminish the interest of his cock at the image of the astronomer’s muscular body and the nice package Angel had calculated during their little swimming adventure that fateful Sunday morning. Better get clothed and focus on something else; this wasn’t the place to choke the chicken.

  Pajama bottoms and a white T-shirt awaited him, neatly folded. There were two sets. No underwear. Angel didn’t have anything against going commando; he just avoided it when possible. He grabbed the boxer again, squeezed it and left it to dry on the back of the chair he had been captive on. Well, there was no past tense in this captivity situation.

  Angel dressed and sat (crossing his legs with his feet under his thighs) on a surprisingly comfortable mattress. With the asylum-style bed and naked walls, he felt in the middle of an old black and white movie. He’d been locked in an old shed (as punishment) enough times for this not to be traumatizing. No matter the ribbons, the trophies, the championships, nothing was ever enough because his father could only see thirteen-year-old Angel kissing another boy, and he would never forgive that. Ironic that missing his brother was exactly what pushed him into exploring the need for a deeper connection with another male. Well, fuck his father and all he had represented. Light helped to deflect the dark memories now.

  He recited the state’s capitals in alphabetical order backwards five times; then conjured five words starting with each of the twenty-four Greek letters and made sentences with them. By the time he was doing the operation backwards and murmuring an expletive with psi, the door burst open and two goons brought a bruised and bloody Malachi into the room, flung him on the cement floor, and left before Angel could overcome his shock at the wreck before him and attack the assholes.

  Malachi’s tanned skin had so many hematomas he was basically a giant purple human. Along his chest and legs hundreds of shallow razor cuts seeped, and yellowed plasma crusted around many. How long had they been torturing him? Angel didn’t even know how long they had been in this godforsaken place.

  With lightning speed, Angel cradled Malachi on his lap, after retrieving both towels to dab over the slashes. “Malachi, can you hear me?”

  A moan came out and the body in Angel’s arms shuddered. Angel blotted away. “Why don’t you tell them what they want? How much pain can you take?”

  “Angel?” Malachi groaned and winced, half-opening his eyes.

  “I’m here, baby. You’re gonna be all right.” Angel wiped what looked like tear streaks over dirt, close to Malachi’s marred cheeks.

  “I was so worried about you.” The rasped voice was unsettling. “Every time I asked, they just laughed. Did they hurt you?”

  Those last four words pierced the rhino-skin covering Angel’s heart and it wept. He couldn’t process how Malachi had been worried about him, while suffering such torment himself.

  Darn astronomer messing with my armor.

  “I’m fine. I’m so sorry this happened to you.” Angel put a finger over Malachi’s busted lip. “Just tell them.”

  Malachi ghosted a hand over Angel’s face (shuddering and obviously in pain, the stubborn cue-ball) and whispered, “It’s not that easy.”

  The metallic door opened with a bang (what was with these idiots and the explosive door?), and the two goons who brought Malachi entered, one with a table and the other carrying a tray with food by the smell that invaded the musty room. Blond Boulder waited by the entrance, his stupidly thick arms crossed over his chest as if daring Angel to cross the threshold.

  “Fucker,” Angel hissed and pulled Malachi onto his chest, protecting.

  “Blah, he’s lucky I don’t like the aroma of burned flesh, because the first option was electrocution.”

  “You’ve just moved two spots up on my most wanted list.”

  “Who’s number one?”

  “Whoever orchestrated this pile of shit.”

  “Good luck with that.” Muscle Mountain shrugged. “I’m going to give your boyfriend two days to recuperate. I like the recipients of my skills in decent conditions so they can appreciate the effort. Pain over pain is not effective.” He glanced at one of the goons. “Glock, pick up those bloody towels and bring fresh ones for the lovebirds.”

  Malachi groaned. Angel rocked him. “Shh, the asshole will be away in a minute. Don’t worry about him.”

  “Okay. You have food, refreshments, and ointments for beat-to-a-pulp lover boy. I dread asking but, do you need anything else?”

  “Clean underwear and a rocket launcher.” His hiss was dead menacing. For the first time Angel saw something similar to wariness in their jailer’s eyes.

  Quicker than a blink, the massive dick-breath stood nose to nose with Angel. “Be careful, cutie. You promised to behave. Cross me and your boy will suffer double.” He growled and moved back to the entrance, after poking Angel on the staples with a thick finger.

  “Son of a bitch.” This pathetic excuse of a human being didn’t have an idea of how much pain Angel could tolerate; years of abuse made him tough. But there was no reason for a show of force. Yet.

  “Please, sweetie,” Malachi urged Angel in a hushed tone. “Don’t upset our caregiver.”

  The door closed with its usual bang.

  Angel touched Malachi's cheek. “I’ll do whatever you ask.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Angel helped him to relieve his bladder in an adjoining bathroom. Malachi did it seated; he didn’t have any strength left to stand, much less to aim. A lovely tinge covered those high cheeks as Angel organized body parts.

  After leaning on the wall for a second, Angel slid down to sit on the floor, his legs folded toward his chest (seemingly crestfallen) across from where Malachi did his business. The intimacy of the moment didn’t escape him. Drained but coherent, Malachi felt immense gratitude for the boy close to him.

  Of all the things Malachi had learned before approaching Angel, the fact that the bartender slash go-go boy slash escort was a survivor of child abuse had been one of the many to admire beyond the delicious body and the flashing blue eyes.

  Perfect manly eyebrows lay horizontal over narrowed lids; Angel plotted and that would just lead them into more trouble.

  “You need to stop.”

  “I’m not doing anything,” Angel responded a little clipped. Then his features softened. “Sorry, Malachi. Shouldn’t we be climbing the walls right now?”

  “It’s best to keep our cool for the moment.”

  Angel moved his forefinger in the air, encompassing Malachi’s figure. “There’s nothing cool about this image.”

  Malachi chuckled; a wince accompanied the soft sound. “Call me baby again.”

  With a sinuously fluid movement, Angel cut the short distance between them and knelt, touching his forehead to Malachi’s. “Baby,” came out husky and fervent. “Let me clean you and put some salve on your wounds.”

  That just needed two letters. “O-K.”

  Once the painful process of cleansing had been completed amid a torrent of endearments coming from Angel’s precious, plump lips, they consumed their food in foreboding silence, sitting on the minute bed. Malachi, clad in pajama bottoms and nothing else, missed the throaty lullaby of Angel’s voice.

  He wanted to keep Angel talking, but he knew what lurked in the other man’s past, so he wouldn’t ask about his younger years. Damn his busted lip, they should be necking. That way, talking would be unnecessary.

  School was always a safe topic. “You mentioned you had to study Greek and Latin for your career.”

  Baby blues twinkled gracefully. “Yeah, both languages come easily to me. Like a second nature.” The sweet smile mesmerized Malachi.

  Fuck his broken fleshy bitch, Malachi needed that mouth now or he would simply explode. “C’mere.”

  Such a good thing one only waited an hour after eating when planning to swim.

  This would be a completely different kind of exercise.

  The kiss tasted like Coke, roasted chicken and blood.<
br />
  And it was glorious.

  Only the fear of injuring Malachi further restrained Angel from throwing himself completely into the abyss the astronomer had summoned. He was on all fours over Malachi, using just his mouth with all his might to convey the desperation in his intention.

  “This sucks,” Angel blurted as he broke their kiss.

  Malachi snickered. “Am I doing something wrong?”

  “No. You’re perfect.” And Angel was talking about more than the kissing. “I’m dying to hold you properly, squeeze you, grab things.”

  “And who’s stopping you?”

  “A thousand cuts,” Angel summarized.

  “Do I disgust you?” Malachi’s eyes opened as much as their bruised surroundings permitted. Puzzlement twinkled in the dark depths.

  Angel confessed, sighing, “You’d never. Even as purpled as you are at the moment.”

  “Maybe if you maul me some more, we could have more than 48 hours of respite.”

  “That’s so wrong, baby.” Angel buzzed Malachi and tasted more blood. “I reopened your lip already. There’s nothing vampiric in me to be enjoying your blood and yet, because it’s yours it’s thrilling.”

  Malachi affected some kind of ominous accent. “Ah, little vampyr, try me—try me.” He snickered more. In a normal voice, he singsonged, “I bet someone likes his steak rare.”

  “Actually, it’s well done, thank you very much.” It was Angel’s turn to laugh.

  His knees on either side of Malachi’s lean hips, Angel trembled when strong hands pulled down his pajama bottoms and caressed his smooth cheeks.

  “You’re so fucking hot.”

  That was a lot better. It irked Angel to no end those cute and adorable monikers. “Likewise, big guy.”

  Lowering his chest so they could kiss while Malachi kneaded his ass, Angel moaned. A hard tongue gave a supreme lecture in sweeping and conquering within the confines of his mouth. Goose bumps covered ninety percent of his skin. The other ten percent was either hard and ready or numb with excitement.

  Malachi finished mastering Angel’s lips. “I’m dying to taste you.” He pulled Angel’s hips toward his face.

  Oh…

  The first lick took Angel by surprise (even if he had been aware of every movement), and he felt his bones melt as Malachi laved the sensitive underside of his throbbing head.

  Steered by his ass cheeks, Angel found his cock sweetly ensconced in velvet warmth before he could react to his lack of reciprocation. He groaned and stared at Malachi. “We should sixty-nine.”

  Full of cock, Malachi only nodded, the low relief of his broken lip brushed Angel’s shaft sending new waves of pleasure.

  Angel maneuvered his limbs carefully avoiding the poking of Malachi’s bruised body. A good thing the worst damage was frontal. Now, the bald head rested between his knees, and Angel removed the material covering his prize. Chunky and engorged, the uncut beast begged for attention.

  It was childish, but Angel couldn’t stifle a snicker at the insane amount of foreskin still covering Malachi’s cock even with the man at full mast (it reminded him of the snout of an aardvark). Before Angel attained full silly-mode and ruined the moment, Malachi seized Angel’s cock and plunged it into a wet welcoming cavity, short-circuiting the Heck out of his already fogged brain.

  All scattered, Angel only understood the primal urge to have Malachi in his mouth, and savor and claim and lose himself. He helped the concealed morsel to emerge with his lips, and the flavor (and the fragrance) dispelled the few remnants of his certainly altered wits.

  A thick finger breached Angel’s hole. Angel accepted then that he’d lost the meager options of control over his body. The only resemblance of consciousness within kept telling him not to let his weight go and hurt Malachi. Beyond that, he became a writhing mass of lust, blind and deaf.

  Malachi added more pressure with a second digit and used both as lever, first to revere Angel’s prostate using relentless strokes, and second to steer him lower and give throat massages to a burning, hyper-sensitive cock.

  His own tongue swirled around the massive uncut rod, his head bobbing and twisting since he had most of his upper weight propped on two hands; dying hands, because they couldn’t explore the expanse of skin around him, so close and yet so far.

  Angel would have given anything to have this moment under different circumstances—when they weren’t in danger in who knew what forsaken corner of the world. Perhaps with death upon their heads, but he wasn’t going to let these fucked up conditions botch his joy.

  Erratic hip thrusts filtered through his impeded awareness to alert him of Malachi’s upcoming orgasm. The notion of a job well-done made him proud and triggered his own release. His first spurt ignited the astronomer’s spark, and soon he swallowed thick ropes of uncannily sugary seed. Angel convulsed in the last throes of ecstasy and fell sideways with enough sense not to smash Malachi, but jerking his cock from the blessed mouth abruptly.

  His fellatio-induced coma perceived chuckling, and it was coming from far away (like around his calves). Angel found that place in his brain to activate speech. “What’s so funny?”

  The body beside him trembled, simulating a mini earthquake and almost throwing him from the not-so-spacious-and-yet-comfortable bed. Angel kept his irresponsive body afloat with a hand splayed on the cement floor. “Seriously, can a man not bask in his afterglow quietly?”

  They were nearing seven on the Ritcher Scale when Angel landed butt first on the rough ground. Consciousness, Alertness, Senses and all those other things one uses to wade through life came crashing on him like a pile of bricks. He didn’t know whether to be furious or amused, because their present condition was anything but laughable. Considering that Lust had taken a hike, everything returned to gloom, doom and fucked. Yeah, furious should be the appropriate response.

  “Care to explain such an exotic display of amusement? Most people need a cigarette after sex. Fits of laughter? That’s a new one even for me.” Angel pulled up his pajama bottoms and crossed his arms over his chest, glowering at Malachi.

  “Oh, baby…” Malachi’s trembling subsided.

  “Don’t you dare call me adorable.” Angel waved a finger at the cue-ball. “I feel murderous, and I’ve got a scraped butt.”

  Malachi put both hands up, fighting another burst of laughter (unconvincingly enough). “I’m sorry, Angel. I’d have choked on that tasty piece of Kielbasa if I’d been using teeth when you yanked it from my mouth. And the whole idea of choking on cock and the faces of those bastards when they found us dead, you bled out and me, well….” He started cackling this time.

  Twisted B horror movie witticism: The goons would end up with nothing, and they’d have been gone with a blast (or a splat in Angel’s case).

  Angel allowed a tiny bit of mirth to surface. He knelt close to Malachi’s face. “You look wonderful when you laugh.” Angel wasn’t exactly sure why that confession squeezed this heart. Nevertheless, the force of the crush liberated something within him.

  “Punching-bag-faced and everything?”

  “Sexy in a fucked up heavyweight-championship-meet-and-greet-after-party way.” Angel snickered softly.

  “You’re not a welterweight yourself.” Malachi caressed Angel’s face.

  “Cruiserweight champion, my last year of high school.” Angel leaned into the touch and did not resist when pride tried to warn him. “Also, blue ribbon in several shooting competitions.”

  “My, my… I’ll keep that in mind.” A steady thumb traced his lower lip. “C’mere.”

  Scooting his bruised body back, Malachi guided Angel to lie sideways, facing him, by a strong hand on the back of his neck. Their lips touched, and the bolt went in two directions, one to Angel’s cock and the other to his hand so he could grab Malachi’s progressively hardening, nice chunky aardvark.

  This time they found completion stroking each other and devouring their mouths. Fuck their dreaded situation. Angel wanted Malachi
inside him.

  Would it be too much to ask the frigging jailers for some condoms?

  “I do need a cigarette.” Malachi pulled him back when Angel tried to leave the bed to find something to clean them. “Let housekeeping clear the mess.”

  They wiped their hands as best they could, using bed sheets, and stayed there looking at the ceiling (and its ugly halogen lamps), fingers entwined.

  “I’m glad we’re together. We gonna get through this.” Malachi clutched Angel’s hand.

  “Yes, we will.”

  As bliss dissipated, Angel remembered Malachi had caught him plotting his revenge. Good-bye archeology and welcome Marine Corps. He had discipline, he had dead good aim; he’d be a darn good sniper.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Propped on his elbow, Malachi studied the contours of Angel’s back. The boy was soundly asleep, and if Malachi’s calculations were correct, no one would disturb them for at least two or three hours.

  Thanks to the accelerated regenerative ointment, the thousand cuts were gone and most of the purple was out of the way too. No torturer worth his salt overdid it, but he didn’t harbor any illusions, soon he would be the punching bag of the fucking blond bastard again, and the man was enjoying the job a little too much.

  For the time being, he would be able to make love in a more skin to skin fashion and pour all the need he felt into crushing embraces made of impenetrable closeness. Every second he spent with Angel imprisoned here, the lie became harder to wield. He knew he was fucked the second he dived into those baby blues near the ocean, with the rising sun giving new life to Angel’s marvelous features.

  Malachi had never blown a cover; he had too much pride to let severe physical pain or fleeting emotions impact his performance, and yet, each of Angel’s kisses sucked his innate pragmatism out of him. The longer they stayed within these four walls, the closer he was to lose his north.