Bad Case of Loving You

by Laney Cairo

  He spread his legs, giving me as much access as I wanted as I pressed the two fingers against his ass. I didn’t push in, not until I’d bent forward and taken the head of his cock into my mouth, too.

  He was unravelling, beginning to moan, even before I’d really begun to please him, just at the feel of my fingers sliding into him, so I lifted my head from his cock to watch his face.

  He had his head tipped back, biting his lip, presumably to keep himself silent, and his hands were held up against his chest, the surgical tape digging into his skin. I pushed my fingers in slowly, pulled them back out, pushed in again.

  Sweat beaded his brow now, and when he opened his eyes there was so much in them. I’d never had a submissive like him before, not one who was so honest with himself about what he wanted. He didn’t want leather and studs and theatrics, there was no ‘Yes, master,’ from him. This was unscripted, a simple transaction between two humans in which he gave himself to me.

  I curled my fingers and he gave a stifled cry through clenched lips.

  He was leaking when I took his cock back into my mouth, slippery and strong, so I took as much of him in as I could and just held his cock steady while I finger-fucked him slowly.

  He held back, moaning quietly, my hand and mouth working him slowly, making him tremble, but I would have kept going for as long as it took.

  He clutched at my head ineffectually with his bound hands and thrust up into my mouth, groaning loudly as he came.

  It was all I could do to swallow his come, swallowing for as long as he kept thrusting, his body clamped hard around my fingers, until he slumped back on the pillows bonelessly.

  His cock slid out of my mouth as he softened and I crawled up the bed and stretched out beside him, my face pressed against his neck, his taste filling my mouth.

  Chapter Thirty Four

  When I opened my eyes, Matthew was propped up on one elbow, watching me, a secretive smile on his face.

  “Hello,” he said.

  “Was I gone long?” I tried to rub my face and remembered my hands were bound together.

  “Not long.” His fingers stroked my cheek gently. “You ready for me?”

  “Yeah,” I said, and my voice came out as a whisper.

  I rolled onto my side and Matthew moved pillows so I could lie down more easily. He pulled a sheet and some blankets over me, too, settling the bedding around me, his body warm and lean and so alive pressed against mine.

  I closed my eyes and listened to the rustle of the condom packet, breathing slowly and deeply, letting the rhythm wash through me.

  The head of Matthew’s cock nudged against my ass, and I moved a little, lifting one leg, rolling a little, making sure I was in the right position for him.

  He breached me slowly and carefully and we both sighed.

  His breath was warm and flickered across my neck, his hand stroked down my arm to where I was holding my bound hands against my chest.

  I wanted to tell him that I loved him, but words were superfluous when he was easing into me. There were tiny stings of pain, glittering sharp pinpoints inside me, and he eased them away, stroking my hands, kissing my shoulder, whispering little flitters of sounds that I couldn’t understand.

  He was fully inside me, holding still. We were breathing in tandem and I could feel my pulse speeding up, making me push my bound hands down against my belly so I could curl my fingers around my own cock.

  His hand covered mine and I went to pull my own hands back. I should have asked, should have apologised for not asking, but he shushed me and moved my hands back where they had been.

  He began to rock into me, slow and sweet and deep, each thrust pushing my cock into my hands, making me shiver and moan and move, too, rocking back against him.

  We fucked like that, slowly and carefully, moving together until my skin began to slip away from me, my life, my thoughts, leaving me open and vulnerable, so full of him. I couldn’t still my tongue, so I whispered, streams of words, falling and stumbling out of my mouth.

  He didn’t silence me or try to stop the flow and his mouth was moving against my shoulder, whispering, too, words that slipped through my mind without me being able to hear them.

  It seemed to me I could hear the river gliding past and it made me want to go home, wherever home might be; Los Angeles, New York, my house, my office … I wasn’t sure where, but I wanted to be there with Matthew, just so we could be quiet and still, and he could slide into me like this every night, rocking my troubles away.

  He guided my hands off my cock, replaced them with one of his own, slick with lube, so cool and smooth and wet, and that was his gift to me. He was going to let me come again.

  The noise from the next room ebbed and flowed around me as Matthew stroked into me differently, shallow strokes, pressing forward, making me moan more loudly now.

  I would have slipped away if his arms weren’t wrapped around me, shed my skin completely without his certainty and strength.

  My face was wet and I was beginning to tremble. There was too much feeling inside me, too much sensation, too much hunger, to belong to just one place and one time.

  “Let go,” he whispered against my shoulder. “I’ll hold you, just let go.”

  My pulse was a roar in my ears. Matthew held his cock still inside me, half way in, half way out, so I was poised on the edge…

  I went over quietly, not resisting, not holding back, letting go just like Matthew had told me to, leaving me weak, slack-mouthed and pliant, my face pressed into the pillow.

  Matthew began to thrust again, deep and hard, driving himself in further each time, then he came, groaning and twisting against my back.

  He slid out of me far too soon, and I would have felt abandoned except that his arms were holding me, firm and secure around my chest.

  He rolled me onto my back and through half-open eyes I could see that he was smiling.

  Gentle hands cut and peeled the tape from my wrists, and I closed my eyes completely when Matthew kissed my wrists carefully.

  “I’m just going to turn the light off,” he whispered and I nodded.

  His arms left me for a moment, then the room was dark and he was back beside me. “Go to sleep, sweetheart,” he said as he pulled the covers over both of us and settled my head on his shoulder.

  I fell asleep with the feeling of him stroking my hair gently.

  Chapter Thirty Five

  It was the sound of a horn on a barge that woke me, I think, and I yawned and stretched. Andrew’s arm was draped across my chest.

  He was deeply asleep when I turned my head to look at him, jaw slack, breathing slow and peaceful. He was going to be asleep for hours.

  I needed to piss and was damn sure I couldn’t wait hours, so I eased his arm off me and slid out of the bed.

  I found my underwear and trousers and pulled them on, then pushed the cardboard carton blocking the door out of the way as quietly as I could. Andrew didn’t even stir.

  I pissed, which was an enormous relief, and washed my hands, and helped myself to more lube sachets, then decided I needed to rehydrate in a major way. And if I was thirsty, it was an indication that Andrew was going to have the hangover from hell when he eventually woke up.

  There was a woman in a bathrobe in the kitchen, surrounded by vast quantities of used plates and glasses and mugs. She looked kind of dyed and plucked and constructed, and far too well-groomed for first thing in the morning, but she smiled at me in a friendly enough way.

  “Hi, I’m Lena. You must be Matthew.” Her eyes locked on the bars through my nipples. Served me right for not bothering to put a shirt on. I could deal with straight women asking about my piercings, even first thing in the morning.

  “Yeah, I’m Matthew,” I said. “I think Andrew’s going to have a killer hangover when he wakes up. Have you got any electrolyte replacement fluid?”

  She tore her eyes away from my nipples for a moment to nod. “Sure, it wouldn’t be F’s place without Gatorade.�
� She opened a cupboard and gave me two bottles of vile blue liquid.

  “Thanks.”

  Her eyes were back on my nipples. Here we go; she was going to ask to touch them.

  “Um, would I be able to just, you know, touch them?” she asked, looking coy.

  “As long as I get to touch your nipples, too,” I said, and she spluttered at me.

  “But… You can’t… That’s completely different!” she said, drawing her bathrobe more tightly closed around herself.

  “It’s what you wanted to do to me,” I pointed out.

  She took the kettle over to the sink stacked with dirty dishes, filled it, and put it on to boil. “All right,” she said when she turned back to face me.

  Damn. About one time in ten, the woman was either sufficiently curious or sufficiently comfortable in her own body to take up the offer. Looked like Lena was that one in ten.

  She unbelted her bathrobe so it hung open and stepped up close to me. She had decent breasts, full and plump, with dark areolas and large nipples, not that I was a connoisseur of breasts.

  She touched the bar through my left nipple cautiously, then the right one. “They don’t hurt,” I said. “So you can touch them more firmly.”

  I pinched her nipples between my thumb and forefinger and rolled them a little, hoping to get this over, and she became more confident, trying the feel of squeezing them and pulling on the bars.

  “Why?” she asked. “Why do you have them?”

  “They make my nipples far more sensitive for sex,” I told her. “And I think they look hot.” I tugged on her nipples a little.

  When I looked up, F was leaning against the dining room doorway, shaking his head, a look of disbelief on his face and I couldn’t help but crack a smile at him.

  Lena leapt back from me, presumably when she worked out that F was standing behind her, and pulled her robe tight around herself again.

  “Go on, ask Matthew about his genital piercing,” F said.

  “Maybe he’ll let you play with that one, too.”

  Lena made this strangled noise and I caught the glint in F’s eyes. He was an evil bastard, but I wasn’t above playing along.

  “Do you want to see it?” I asked Lena, undoing the button at the top of my fly and beginning to unzip myself.

  Lena looked like she was about to die of embarrassment, whereas F was nearly convulsed with laughter. She shrieked when I undid my zip completely and reached into my underwear and F let out a wheezing gasp and clung onto the kitchen bench top.

  I pulled my cock out and Lena screamed, waved her hands at me, and scrunched her eyes shut tightly. I really hoped that F wasn’t going to herniate anything, the way he was laughing.

  I zipped my trousers back up and began to laugh, too.

  There wasn’t anything quite as good as teasing women, especially the ones who wanted to touch.

  Lena rushed out of the kitchen and I heard the bathroom door slam shut. I sank down onto the kitchen floor and let myself laugh long and hard.

  “Fucking hell, Matthew,” F managed to gasp. “I didn’t think you’d really do it!”

  I was laughing so hard my ribs were aching, partly at F’s completely over the top reaction, but I managed to get out,

  “If she turns into a fag hag, that’s your fault.”

  F wiped his face and said, “Give her twenty minutes, she’ll work out what it’s for, then you can tease her all over again.”

  I hauled myself back up to my feet again and picked up the two bottles of Gatorade, wondering if all the ruckus had woken Andrew.

  F held out a small screw top jar. “B12,” he said. “Feed some to Andrew.”

  I took the bottle. I could do with one myself.

  Chapter Thirty Six

  Waking up happened slowly. I was aware of sunlight slanting through wooden slatted blinds, of faint traffic noise, of someone beside me turning the pages of a book occasionally.

  I could feel him breathing, and the warmth from his body soaking into mine. My body had that vaguely sore feeling that sleeping for too long gave me. I wasn’t used to lying still for that long.

  The page of a book whispered again and I rolled onto my side and smiled at Matthew.

  “Hey,” he said quietly. “Want something to drink?”

  I swallowed. My mouth was as dry as dust, and I suspected that the moment I moved, I’d know all about the size of my brain compared to the size of my meningeal membrane. “Yeah.”

  Matthew leaned over the edge of the bed and sat up again, bottle of Gatorade in his hand.

  I took the bottle and struggled upright, unscrewed the cap and chugged half the bottle down fast. It should have tasted vile, kind of like the lining of a child’s paddling pool, but it was a sign of how dehydrated I was that the stuff just slid down my throat, smooth as any single malt.

  Matthew held out a small bottle of B12 to me, and I took it gratefully and swallowed two. F was completely reliable that way; he would never leave a guest to suffer a hangover without the appropriate remedy. I’d seen him give himself IM

  B12 after a big night, before facing a full day at the hospital.

  I lay back down again and I could have sworn I felt my body picking up the fluid while I lay there.

  When I closed my eyes again, the pages of the book went back to whispering, and I said, “What are you reading?”

  “Fiction.” Matthew sounded so pleased. I remembered the last time I’d studied so hard that I’d lost the ability to enjoy fiction. It was the most recent time I’d had a go at my physician’s exams, and it had not been pleasant. After the exam, I’d read everything that wasn’t nailed down, reveling in words that I didn’t have to be able to regurgitate at will.

  It was a Tuesday morning, quite late by the feel of it, and I was in bed with my lover. Neither of us had to go anywhere, my phone was off, and I’d handed my pager in at the Enquiries desk at the hospital as I’d walked out after being fired.

  It made me smile, despite how my body felt.

  “Tell me about the book,” I said, not opening my eyes. Oh, yeah, my body was just soaking up the potassium and sodium.

  “It’s a murder mystery,” Matthew said. The mattress dipped beside me as he moved and his leg slid over mine.

  “Lots of characters with backstories I don’t know. A pathetic dead body in a graveyard, some obscure literary references, and a baby with Apert’s syndrome. I could tell you about Apert’s syndrome if you’d like.”

  “Tell me about Elis-van Creveld syndrome instead,” I said.

  I hoped the man in the bus shelter had scored last night.

  “Don’t know anything about Elis-van Creveld,” Matthew said. “Except that somebody had an unfortunate surname.”

  He was stroking my inner thigh now, and I smiled as pleasure washed through me.

  “Two people,” I said. “Who talked about their patients on a train.” Bedding slid off my chest and Matthew’s mouth settled on my nipple. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d made love in the morning. Presumably Kendra and I had, before Henry had arrived.

  I could feel the stubble on Matthew’s jawline rubbing against my chest and it was sending sparks of arousal from my nipple directly to my cock.

  There were gloves on the packing case beside the bed, and sachets of lube, and my head didn’t hurt when I reached out for them.

  Matthew rolled onto his back willingly and whispered,

  “Yeah,” when I pressed two fingers inside him.

  The bedding slid off us and he was achingly beautiful in the morning light. “Will you touch yourself?” I asked him, and he curled long fingers around his cock and began to stroke himself.

  His nipple was hard in my mouth, the bar metallic against my teeth, and he moaned and squirmed on the bed as I sucked and tongued the bar.

  “Fuck, Andrew, I can’t take much of this,” he moaned.

  “Fuck me? Now?”

  There was a condom beside the bed so I rolled it on myself quickly, and
smeared lube over the latex. We were making a hell of a mess of F’s sheets.

  I’d been in a screaming hurry the only time I’d fucked Matthew before, but this time I eased myself in slowly, watching his face. He tipped his head back, exposing the smooth stretch of his throat, closing his eyes. I licked a long, slow line up his neck, waiting with trembling expectation for his body to relax and accept me.

  “Yes,” he whispered and I stayed where I was, buried deep inside him, watching his face.

  He opened his eyes and gazed into mine.

  I knew the exact moment I’d fallen in love with Kendra; we’d been sitting on the back step of her mom’s house during summer break from college. She’d been fiddling, playing Lynyrd Skynyrd covers and I’d been sketching her, trying to catch the sawing of her bow arm. I’d put down my sketchpad, entranced by the expression of joy on her face, and fallen in love with her.

  It was lube that coated my fingers, not charcoal, when I fell in love with Matthew.

  Moisture leaked out of one of my eyes, a drop fell down onto his chin, and he whispered, “Make love to me.”

  I did, as slowly and gently as I could, giving desire as much time to build as it needed, lingering over every stroke, until Matthew closed his eyes again, overwhelmed. He wasn’t quiet, not this time, and every gasp and moan was the sweetest sound I’d ever heard, every whimper made me moan, too.

  Each thrust made the bed creak alarmingly, but I didn’t care. F would forgive me this once for disturbing his morning, I was sure.

  It grew warmer and the bedding slid off the bed completely, down onto the floor. Matthew was moving underneath me, lifting his hips to meet each thrust in turn, driving us both on, our cries mingling as Matthew clutched at me helplessly. I don’t know who came first, or how often, just that there came a time when my body would no longer co-operate and my cock softened, making me grab wildly for the condom as I slid out.