Bad Case of Loving You

by Laney Cairo

  “We’ve had dinner cooked for us,” I said.

  Angie carried a cardboard box into the lounge room.

  “Curry,” she said. “I’ve cooked rice, too, so you’ll just need to reheat it. And there’s a nice pudding in there, too.”

  Andrew looked flabbergasted, and I could understand the feeling. I handed him the box and left him thanking Angie for her cooking while I ran up the stairs to grab my backpack, laptop and textbooks.

  Chapter Twenty Four

  The smell of curry filled the car, and it was a smell I would forever associate with England. Until I’d found ‘Dulang Thai’

  the only takeaway food I’d been able to stomach had been Indian. I couldn’t believe that any one would actually eat a deep fried Mars bar. Henry had force-fed me Red Dwarf at about the same time, and Dave Lister was right; curry and lager were meant for each other. Mind you, the curries were distinctly English, too, swimming in grease, served with too much dhal, and sultanas, of all things.

  “Are you starving?” I asked Matthew. “Do you need to go ahead and eat the curry now, hopefully without spilling it over my car?”

  Matthew laughed. “I’m not starving. I was brought a plate of roast beef and mustard sandwiches at four this afternoon.”

  He leaned forward in the car and fiddled with the radio, presumably trying to tune it to something other than Radio 3, just like Henry. “Did you have a good weekend?” he asked, sitting back up, having found Radio 1.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I sorted my office out yesterday, and Henry ate all my gummi bears. Went to the movies last night, and Henry and I spent this afternoon wandering around the city some more. We start out, head somewhere that sounds exciting, and see what happens. We spent today in Whitechapel, looking at the Jack the Ripper sites. What about you?”

  “Study,” Matthew said. “House was blissfully quiet because Angie kept grumping about the noise, so everyone went elsewhere to party.”

  We stopped at some traffic lights, and I spread my hand over Matthew’s thigh. It had been a long time since I’d felt like this.

  Matthew was quiet while we ate dinner on the couch and he looked tired. I put my empty plate down on the coffee table and took his out of his hands. “If you just want to go to sleep, that’s okay,” I said.

  He slid across the couch into my arms. “Not that tired,” he said. When I kissed him, he tasted of masala and rice and lager. “I do need a shower first, though.”

  In the shower, I carefully washed both of his nipple piercings, sliding the bars through the flesh, twisting them gently, cleaning the bars and balls, then sucking the metal and flesh into my mouth.

  I was in that space again, the place where everything slid away inside my head. Matthew’s eyes were half-closed when I kissed him again. His breathing was slow and deep; he was there, too. F took drugs, my ex and her muso friends got there through live performance, and I could possibly, if I tried, remember enough functional neuro anatomy to describe it, but not while it was happening.

  I knelt down, and the tiles were hard under my knees. I slid the bar though Matthew’s cock backward and forward, rotating it, cleaning around the beads with a wash cloth, and his cock throbbed in my hand. I washed him carefully, the water pouring down my shoulders, running in rivulets down Matthew’s thighs.

  He sighed, audible over the sound of the shower, and he leaned back and spread his legs wider. I washed his balls and his ass, then he guided his cock into my mouth. I nearly came at that moment, just from the taste of his skin.

  The beads were hard in my mouth, and Matthew didn’t push in any further. I curled my tongue around the bottom bead and rolled it around.

  The room was suddenly silent when Matthew turned the shower taps off and I opened my eyes now the water was no longer streaming down my face. He was looking down at me, awe in his eyes. I couldn’t take any more of him into my mouth; the beads were even more in the way than when he had a condom on, banging against my palate, clinking against my teeth as I twisted my head, looking for a better angle. My fingers curled around the base of his cock, steadying it, and Matthew spread his hands across the tiles, fingers splayed.

  His ribcage was rising and falling visibly, his breath echoing. I began to suck, sliding the bar up and down with my tongue, and when I peered up at Matthew again, he had his eyes closed and his mouth open. I stroked slowly with my hand, coaxing him on, and I could taste him. He was leaking now, bitter and strong, breathing hard, moaning under his breath…

  I was unbearably hard, and it was a blessed relief to touch my own cock with my other hand, not to stroke, just to squeeze the head, then the shaft.

  Matthew’s fingers were curled around my skull now, temporal, occipital. His hand moved forward, zygomatic arch, maxilla, mandible, and I gripped his iliac crest with my free hand to steady him.

  He was close, I could feel him trembling on the edge of orgasm, then he cried out, this inarticulate sound that made me ache even more, and his cock throbbed, and he began to come.

  I swallowed as much as I could. Matthew’s knees buckled, and I steadied him with my hand, then let him slide down the shower wall into my arms, onto the tiled floor.

  I just held him for a little while, both of us breathing hard, then I kissed him and he wrapped his arms around my neck.

  We couldn’t sit there for long; the heating in the bathroom wasn’t good enough, and the tiles and grouting were just plain uncomfortable, but I let Matthew recover for a while.

  “Fuck,” he whispered. “That was amazing.”

  I pushed the wet hair off his face and looked at him closely. He looked so vulnerable, the tiredness gone from his eyes now, and something occurred to me.

  “That was the first time, wasn’t it?” I murmured against the wet skin of his shoulder. We were cold now; Matthew was almost shivering.

  “First time without a condom, yeah,” he said.

  I have to admit the smile I hid against his neck was smug.

  He slapped my thigh gently and said, “Stop that,” and I could hear the laughter in his voice clearly.

  “You’re cold,” I said. “Come and get warm and I’ll make you a hot chocolate.”

  He pulled himself to his feet with the hand rail. “I don’t like cocoa,” he said, reaching for a towel.

  “Ah, I didn’t say cocoa,” I said, wrapping a bathrobe around myself and watching his eyes widen when he realised there was a second robe hanging behind the door, waiting for him. “I said hot chocolate.”

  Chapter Twenty Five

  The bathrobe was thick and fluffy and deep red, and I adored it. I sat on the couch, my hair still dripping, pulled my legs up, and sighed contentedly. The gas heater was on, blasting heat into the room, and Andrew was doing arcane things in the kitchen.

  There was a shelf of DVDs on the bookcase and it only took a few moments to work out that, unless Andrew was obsessed by cheesy action flicks, the DVDs were all there for Henry. When Andrew put a mug in front of me on the coffee table, I said, “Where’s your porn? I’ve not seen any here.”

  “No porn,” Andrew said, sitting beside with his mug. “Porn is incompatible with Henry, who is unbelievably nosy. As are all other vices, such as bondage gear and secret stashes of chocolate.”

  “No porn?” I said, shaking my head. “But what do you do?”

  I sipped my mug, and looked at Andrew in surprise. It tasted incredible, not all watery and bitter like cocoa.

  “There’re cream and marshmallows and melted chocolate in that,” Andrew said smugly. “And I have to rely on my fevered imagination. That, and being so tired that jerking off is the last thing on my mind.”

  “Know all about that one,” I said, scooping some of the cream floating on top of the chocolate up with my finger and eating it. “God, this is good.”

  Andrew caught hold of my hand, lifted it to his mouth and sucked on my finger, too. “Mmm,” he said. “I agree.” He licked my palm, nipped the tip of my thumb with his teeth, then sucked on the s
ensitive skin of my wrist.

  I groaned, this strange gurgling sound, and he chuckled.

  “You’re an evil bastard, aren’t you?” I said.

  “Me? Never.” He nipped the skin, making me squirm. His hand slid up my thigh, parting my robe and exposing my rapidly thickening cock.

  “Put your mug down,” he said, and his hand slid down my calf and wrapped around my ankle.

  As soon my mug was safely on the coffee table, he lifted my foot up and pressed his mouth against the instep of my foot.

  I squirmed, and I have to admit it, I giggled. Giggling was so adolescent. “Stop it,” I said, trying to pull my foot away.

  “I’m ticklish, you bastard.”

  His hands were tight around my ankle, holding my foot still, and he stopped kissing it for long enough to say, “Being ticklish is about being afraid of being touched. Just relax and let me show you.”

  I stopped struggling, and he said, “That’s better. Now, close your eyes and just feel what I’m doing; don’t try and think about it.”

  I was dubious, and it must have shown on my face, because Andrew said, “Trust me, I’m a doctor.”

  The hand around my ankle was firm and he rubbed his fingertips in tiny circles. “All right,” I said, and I closed my eyes and just let myself feel what he was doing.

  I’d always been ticklish, so it was hard work to stop myself from pulling away, and Andrew’s mouth, even though he was just kissing and licking, felt sharp and discordant. “That’s better,” he murmured, and he was right.

  If I didn’t fight him, it felt intense and strangely erotic, especially when he bit gently. “Oh!” I said, and tingles began to run up and down my legs. This was incredibly intimate.

  Andrew sucked on my toes and then picked up my other foot and guided it into his crotch so it pressed against his cock.

  He was a kinky bastard.

  Who was onto something.

  I wriggled the foot in his lap, working it inside the folds of his robe, and he chuckled, sending vibrations down my leg.

  His tongue was slithering between my toes now, rubbing across the webs of flesh, and I was breathing hard, stretched out on the couch, basking in the warmth from the gas heater.

  Andrew’s cock was hard and I rubbed the arch of my foot up against it, pressing it against his belly and said, “Pervert.”

  Andrew took my big toe out of his mouth. His breath was cool across the wet flesh when he said, “That’s a bit rough coming from a man with a bar through his cock.”

  I propped myself up on my elbows and opened my eyes.

  “You like what I can do with the bar through my cock.”

  He put my foot down and leaned forward and ran his tongue up the length of my cock, making me gasp.

  “I do like it a lot,” he said against my belly. “Shall we go upstairs, where there are condoms and lube, and establish this as a certainty?”

  I loved him for letting me know that even though we’d just had unprotected oral, he wasn’t expecting to have unsafe penetrative sex.

  Oh, God, I loved him.

  This wasn’t just infatuation or sexual obsession, this was the real thing.

  My chest was tight as I followed Andrew up the stairs, and I felt suspiciously like I wanted to cry. This was scary. I was out of my depth here, and I was suddenly nervous. Andrew must have sensed this, because he paused on the top stair and said, “You okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  He closed the bedroom door and touched my cheek gently with the palm of his hand. “Shh,” he whispered, kissing my lips lightly. He kept kissing me like that, gentle kisses, coaxing my mouth open, teasing me with his tongue, and I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and kissed him back, like we had in the car park.

  He undid my robe, sliding hands across my belly and around my back to cup my arse briefly I moaned and pulled at his robe, needing to touch him, too, needing to feel his skin, to make him moan. I needed to fuck him.

  Stepping back, I dropped the robe onto the floor and walked over to the bedside table. I took out a condom, lube, and gloves and dropped them on the bed. I pulled the gloves on and the latex snapped against my wrist. I was going to give Andrew exactly what he wanted.

  He was on the bed, facedown, his eyes closed, tremulous expectation evident in every breath he took. I knelt down on the bed, traced one latex-clad finger around his ear, across

  his cheek, then slipped it into his mouth. “Roll over,” I whispered against his ear. “I want to see you.”

  I’d been nervous before, but it had slipped away in the familiarity of what we were doing. This was known; I knew what Andrew wanted, and it was what I wanted, too.

  He rolled over and I squeezed lube into one hand, his eyes locked on it as I lay down beside him. I kissed him deeply and wrapped my hand around his cock, the lube slippery and cool, and began to stroke him slowly.

  He whimpered against my mouth, and I remembered that I was the only one who had come in the shower. “Do you need to come now?” I asked him, lips pressed against his ear as I whispered. “Or can you wait for me?”

  “I want to wait,” he said. “Please.”

  A submissive with manners; always a good thing. I kissed his lips briefly. “All right.” I let go of his cock and knelt up again.

  I hadn’t touched his arse since Thursday night, so he should have recovered completely, but I was as gentle as I could be, just in case. He didn’t flinch or give me any sign he was sore as I slid one finger around the outside of his arse, getting him ready, giving him the chance to anticipate.

  He was pliant, spreading his legs wide, lifting his hips a little, whispering, “Please” over and over. I slid two fingers slowly into him, knowing now that he could take two straight away, eased them all of the way in and bent forward and took his cock into my mouth.

  His body jerked—I felt it clearly—and he moaned. He tasted of soap and skin and lube, and I fucked him slowly with two fingers.

  He wouldn’t be able to take much of that, especially without a condom on to dull the sensation, so I lifted my mouth off him regretfully. Another time, next time, I’d make sure he came in my mouth.

  He wanted more, more fingers, all of my hand probably, but neither of us were going to last long enough for that, so I slipped my fingers out of him and went to roll a condom on myself.

  He stopped me, took the condom out of my hand and tore it open, then knelt in front of me. He licked the head of my cock, just the once, then carefully rolled the condom on me, over the underside bead first, then the one on the top of the glans. He’d been watching me.

  He rolled the condom securely around the base of my cock, took the lube from me and coated my cock quickly, then tossed the tube of lube off the bed.

  There was so much surrender in his eyes when he lay back down on the bed that it took my breath away for a moment.

  I pushed gently into him and he was open and ready, the head of my cock sliding in smoothly. I held still for a moment, kissing him to distract him from any stinging, then slid halfway in. I paused, rolled my hips smoothly, watching his wide-open blue eyes for the flash.

  There! That was just right and I kept the rolling motion going, dragging the top bead backward and forward inside him. It took finesse, and it took control, but I was willing to wait to fuck him if it meant I got to watch his face while he lost his mind.

  He was utterly beautiful, his mouth open, his eyes closed now, breathing hard. “More,” he groaned. “Oh, fuck, more.”

  I gave him more, pushing in hard all the way, then pulling back, making sure I dragged the bead inside him, then slamming myself back in. We were both groaning with every thrust, and I dug my knees and elbows into the bed for further traction and picked up speed.

  He was shouting, we both were, it felt so fucking good, and the bed thudded against the wall repeatedly, half a beat behind my thrusts. I wondered briefly what the harmonic frequency of Ikea furniture was, then he clutched at me with both hands, digging his nail
s into my back, and I felt come spreading hot and slippery between our bodies. I held still, hopefully with the bead in the right place, just to give him something to come around.

  He collapsed back onto the bed and I began to fuck him slowly and gently, stretching each stroke out, sliding in all the way, following the rhythm inside my head. The pulse in Andrew’s neck was bounding when he turned his head to one side, his eyes half-closed.

  I kissed his pulse, then his cheek, resting my head, my whole body, down on him. He wrapped his arms around me, hugged me, and kissed my lips. I groaned and drove into him as hard as I could, my entire body shaking and trembling as my orgasm uncurled inside me as I thrust into him over and over.

  Staying conscious afterwards didn’t seem to be an option.

  I was distantly aware of Andrew getting rid of the condom and dragging a quilt over me, but I couldn’t move enough to even go and brush my teeth. I’d have to apologise for my early morning breath tomorrow.

  I woke once during the night and found I was curled up against Andrew’s back, one arm slung over him. I didn’t feel nervous anymore.

  Chapter Twenty Six

  The alarm woke Matthew briefly, just enough for him to peer at the clock and groan, “Why?”

  I kissed him. “I have to do rounds before I go on strike.” I tucked the quilt around his shoulders. “Go back to sleep.”

  It was three, not really morning at all, but I went through the motions, in the hope my brain would eventually catch up with my body and start working. Preferably before I got to the hospital and had to make any decisions.

  I showered quickly, dressed in the clothes I’d left ready, and went downstairs to a beautifully warm house. Guess we’d left the heater on all night.

  I turned it off, and put the coffee percolator on. There was leftover curry, which reheated very nicely in the microwave. I wasn’t sure that curry was a good option for breakfast, but this counted as a late night snack anyway.