by Sean Michael
Bertoli moved them down the hall, not dragging him, but leading him inexorably toward the room where the table was.
"I don't know if I can do this, Bertoli.” He held onto that strong hand. He didn't want to know if he was ruined.
"I know. But that's never stopped us in the past.” Bertoli pushed the door open, turned on the light, the table there, cuffs attached. Waiting for him.
"No cuffs.” He stopped short, shook his head, the panic real, sharp, flooding him.
"It must be just like it always was, my dear. You know that."
He was led to the table, each step bringing him closer.
"I can't. No cuffs.” No cuffs. No binding. They'd come. They'd come back for him.
"It's me, my dear. Lutrell. Bertoli."
He wasn't pushed down onto the table, but suddenly he was lying on it, arms and legs on the boards, spread wide.
"No. No. They'll come. They'll come.” The world seemed to grey, time hiccupping, twitching. “They'll come."
"No. Not here. They cannot. I will not let them."
The cuff slid around his right wrist.
"Help me.” He groaned, rolling violently, pulling, screaming as the skin at his wrist tugged. They'd hurt him. Over and over. “Let me go! Let me go! Somebody help me!"
"Shh. Shh, my dear. I am helping you."
The second cuff went around his other wrist, Bertoli moving slowly, carefully, but not stopping.
"Just two more and then we'll begin. I will wash you, clean them from you."
Everything went dark and he couldn't breathe, lost in the panic, whispering again and again for a light in the darkness. A nightlight. Please.
The cuffs came off immediately, Bertoli helping him to sit up, arm around his shoulders. “All right, Dent. I've stopped. See. Open your eyes, my dear. You said the word and I stopped. You are safe here."
He shuddered, chest heaving. “Help me."
"I am, my dear. I am.” A soft kiss pressed against his forehead.
"I need a shower. I need a shower. I need to be clean, please."
"You would feel cleaner with the ritual. We can try again now that you've had a breather, a moment to pause."
"Again?” He shuddered, leaned more heavily against Bertoli. “I feel dirty, sweaty. I need to be clean."
"I will clean you. No cuffs this time. Just lie back. Let me clean you."
"No cuffs. Thank you. I can't yet. I can't breathe with them.” He leaned back, trusting Bertoli's hands, those eyes.
"You can, but you're not ready to yet.” His arms and legs were placed on the spread boards once again, the cuffs left hanging. “No moving, please."
He nodded, meeting Bertoli halfway. “Help me. I need you."
"I know.” A soft, familiar laugh sounded, Bertoli's eyes warm as they held his. “And I need to help you."
Bertoli stepped away a moment, only long enough to fill a bowl with warm water and pour in the antibiotic soap.
"I'm sorry.” It was easy to relax, to close his eyes and pull into himself into the quiet.
The cloth was soft and warm as it slid across his neck. “For what?"
"For losing it. For not being ready.” Oh. Better. He lifted his chin.
The cloth continued to clean him in careful strokes over his skin. So thorough. “You tried, my dear. I cannot ask for more."
"I just want to sleep.” For hours. Forever.
"When we're done. I promise."
His shoulders and arms were cleaned, then his chest, each touch wiping away the sweat, the dirt. Every touch made it easier, let him breathe. Let him feel safe.
Bertoli hummed softly as he cleaned Dent's hips and genitals. “Almost done. And then the alcohol. So clean."
"Yes. Yes. Clean. How we begin.” Dent felt drugged, almost floating.
"Yes.” Bertoli laughed, the sound delighted. “How we begin.” His feet were tickled gently by the cloth. “There."
Yes. Yes, there. Better. “Thank you."
"You're welcome, my dear. The alcohol, now, and we will be done. You will be clean."
The alcohol-soaked swab slid across his skin, leaving the cool tightness behind. He moaned, shivering a little, stretching on the table, skin coming awake.
"We have begun.” Soft touches slid across his lips. “Are you ready for step two?"
He refused to release his peace, his relaxation. He had earned this. “If I'm not, you'll stop."
The soft chuckle was a caress. “Yes. I will."
The gentle touches moved from his lips to his belly, Bertoli's fingers warm. Things slowed, went quiet and easy and he let it happen, let himself experience the sensations. He wasn't feeling, but rather just being there.
Those warm fingers slid between his legs, one pushing against his hole, stroking the skin. They disappeared and returned, slick now, pushing harder against him. He tried not to tense, not to be frightened, concerned. Trying not to worry.
"Let the feelings out, Dent. Don't hide.” One of Bertoli's fingers slid into his body.
"I don't. I. I don't want to be scared anymore.” It wouldn't stop, the tension, the shaking.
"You don't need to be scared here. I will always stop when you need me to.” A second finger slid into him, both of them moving slowly, pushing in and out of him.
"I don't know what to do.” It was all too much, too hard, too big.
"That's simple, my dear. You just do what I tell you."
The words actually surprised a laugh out of him.
Bertoli's chuckles echoed his own laughter. “You see? Already you have found something of yourself.” The warm fingers slid away. “Time now for the tube. You remember this. You know how it works. How we clean you inside."
"I ... I remember.” He did, but he wasn't sure. He didn't know. “You'll stop if I need you to."
"You know I will.” The warm fingers were back, slicker, pushing him wide. He couldn't feel the cool of the tubing yet, though he knew it was coming.
A moment later Bertoli's fingers slid away, his body closing over the tube.
His shoulders left the table, hands reaching for his lover.
One of Bertoli's hands caught his, holding on tightly. “I have you."
"You do.” He hated this, hated being needy.
"I do.” His hand was pressed down against the board. “Lie still for me, Dent. It's time to fill you."
"I don't know if I want to do this.” He never knew.
Bertoli chuckled softly “You do."
"I...” He couldn't ignore this, couldn't not feel it. “I'm not ready."
"You are.” The liquid solution began to fill him.
A soft moan left him, part fear, part worry, part something he didn't even begin to understand.
Bertoli's hand slid across his belly, massaging gently as he became more and more full. “You're doing so well, my dear. So very well.” Their eyes met, his entire self—inside and out—shaking, trembling. Bertoli smiled, eyes so warm, holding him. “I have you."
"Promise?” He closed his eyes against the tears that threatened.
"I promise.” His belly was kissed. “I'm taking the tube out now.” It slid away. “Hold on now."
Panting, groaning, Dent thought he was going to shake apart, to burst.
Bertoli opened the table beneath his ass. “There. There. So strong. And you can let go now."
"I can't.” He couldn't. He was caught inside, trapped. Scared. “Help me."
"Always, my dear.” One of Bertoli's fingers slid against his hole, stroking the tightly clenched skin. Then, without warning, Bertoli bent and swallowed his cock, sucking strongly.
His hips jerked, water flowing from him, tears sliding from his eyes. Bertoli continued sucking him, tongue playing across the tip of his cock before slowly pulling off. He shuddered and shook, reaching for his lover, his Bertoli, eyes squeezed shut.
The long, gaunt body pressed against him, Bertoli accepting his embrace and returning it. “So strong, my dear. You fill me with such pr
ide."
Dent buried his face in Bertoli's throat, relaxing, resting, letting the scent and warmth there soothe him.
"What will you have as your reward?” Bertoli asked him. “For doing so well, for being so brave?"
"I ... I don't know.” All he wanted was peace. However, just then his stomach growled, loudly enough to hear, to make them both chuckle. “I'm hungry.” He hadn't been hungry in weeks.
"Then we shall find our way to the kitchens and eat.” Bertoli helped him up and took his hand, leading him from the room as if it were just another day. Their fingers twined together, squeezing a little.
Yeah. Yeah, he could eat.
* * * *
Lutrell felt good. They'd talked and done a scene together. Granted, a very basic scene and Dent had been unable to handle being cuffed, but it had been a scene nonetheless. And perhaps more importantly, Dent had used his safeword and it had stopped. He had been heard, acknowledged, listened to. Not forced, not ignored, not left without recourse.
And then, he'd eaten.
The sleeping had come, but after all that, Lutrell thought it was less hiding and more plain exhaustion. It had been such a full couple of hours after days and weeks of little but slumber.
He let Dent sleep nearly twelve hours before deciding he would wake his lover. It was time that Dent spent more time awake. It was time for him to continue facing the demons and put them behind him.
Dent was curled in the center of the bed, the grey tone of the man's skin just beginning to return to normal, still too pale but not sickly. He sat and reached, stroking Dent's arm softly. “Time to wake up, my dear."
Dent's eyebrows lowered, but Lutrell took it as a positive sign that Dent didn't jerk awake in a panic. He leaned in and licked at the skin beneath Dent's ear, pleased that it tasted like Dent and not like something foreign, not like sickness. “I know you don't want to, but I've slept as much as I can and I'm bored and I'm selfish and want you awake."
Dent hummed, almost smiled. Oh. A ticklish spot. How utterly charming.
He licked again, using just the tip of his tongue, then blew gently. “Wake for me, my dear. Don't leave me all alone."
That earned him a chuckle, Dent murmuring his name.
He giggled, himself. How could he not after hearing Dent's laughter? “I love the way you sound in happiness, my dear. I will earn as many laughs from you as I can."
Dent turned toward him, tugged him into a quick, hard embrace, the touch fleeting but freely offered. Oh. It was just such honest, earnest touches that had made him fall in love with Dent in the first place. How wonderful to know he had not lost them.
Lutrell blinked, feeling suddenly quite emotional. “Come now, my dear. Time to be awake."
"Pushy, pushy.” Those eyes opened, met his. “I slept hard."
"I am pushy, yes, and you did sleep hard. Pure sleep, I think, rather than hiding this time.” He smiled, gave Dent a soft kiss.
Dent didn't push into the kiss, but responded, opened to him, let him in. He took the silent invitation, tongue tasting the inside of Dent's mouth, sliding against the hard, even teeth. The touches started, petting him, sliding over his skin. Dent had always been generous with touches, wanting to make love with him. Moaning softly, he pushed into the touches, shifting to lie on his side facing Dent. Awake didn't necessarily mean out of bed.
"I thought I...” Dent shook his head, lips touching Lutrell's again, fingers sliding down, counting his ribs.
"Thought what?” Lutrell asked, shivering with a mix of pleasure and ticklishness.
"That I wouldn't have ... that this was ... Hush. No more talking."
He chuckled. “I remember you hushing me.” He left it at that, though, willing to let Dent just feel, eager for the man to feel. And feel Dent did, hands exploring him, waking up every inch of his skin. It made him moan, made him laugh with delight. He returned the touches, sharing how good they could be.
Dent smiled into their kiss, blinking slowly, watching him.
He found the spot on Dent's collarbone that was extra sensitive, fingers teasing across it, determined to stimulate Dent without going for the obvious erogenous zones of nipples and cock and balls. Those little sounds were addictive, were fascinating. And they were all his. He knew this, knew it before, knew it even more now.
He held Dent's eyes, letting his own arousal show, his pleasure, even as he coaxed more and more from Dent's body.
"Bertoli.” Was that a smile?
"Only you call me that,” he whispered, teasing little circles around Dent's navel, tongue tracing a line around Dent's lips.
"I don't want to be like everyone else."
"You never were. Not from the very first moment I saw you."
"Good.” Dent held his eyes. “Good."
"I...” The words caught in his throat. He had no desire to put more on Dent than the man could take right now, but it felt right. And quite simply, it was the truth. “I love you."
"I wanted to come back home to you. More than anything."
"And you have. You did. You're home. With me.” He laughed and pressed their mouths together, letting his sounds fill Dent's mouth. The kiss gained some heat, some passion, before Dent pulled back, pulled away.
Lutrell slid his hand along Dent's side, teased a too-prominent hip bone with his thumb as he licked at Dent's lips, refusing to let the man back totally away from him.
"Are you hungry?” Dent asked. “Is it morning? We could have breakfast."
"I'm hungry for more of your sweet caresses,” he murmured, hand sliding down to cup Dent's ass.
Dent tensed, then relaxed, the strong, square fingers matching his touch. Lutrell moaned softly, letting Dent know how good it felt.
His hand squeezed and drifted over Dent's ass and hip, teasing its way closer and closer to Dent's cock on each pass. He knew Dent wasn't hard, but there was interest there, hope. He slid his hand down along Dent's thighs and slid between them to stroke the soft, sensitive balls. He would persist. He would continue until Dent could become hard. Whether that was today, or tomorrow, or not for a thousand tomorrows.
Again there was tension, then that tension eased, Dent mirroring his touch. There was no problem for Lutrell in the area of being hard. None whatsoever, and Dent's touches had him moaning, pushing closer and wanting more.
"Do you want me to stroke you off? You smell good."
Oh, yes, he wanted that very much. “Would you like to?"
"Just because mine isn't working doesn't mean I don't want you to feel good."
He hummed softly and stroked Dent's belly. “It will work again, my dear. In time.” He let his fingers slide over the velvety soft skin of Dent's cock. “And yes, I would very much like it if you brought me off."
"I hope you're right.” Dent shifted him, moved them closer together. Dent knew what he liked, how he liked it, how he needed.
He stroked Dent's cock again, offering a last caress before settling, anticipating the pleasure Dent's touch always brought.
The caresses were tentative at first, then stronger, the thumb sliding into the slit of his cock and rubbing.
He gasped. “Dent. Oh, please.” He shifted his hips, begging with his body.
"Yes. Yes, I won't leave you hanging.” Dent took a kiss, hand moving faster, squeezing harder.
No, he hadn't thought Dent would, not if he could help it. He had never had anyone concerned with his pleasure like Dent was. It was truly heady.
He let Dent control the kiss, the movement on his cock. He was being loved, caressed. Adored. It made him smile, made him nearly beg. He did laugh, the sound full of his pleasure, his joy. “Oh, Dent..."
"Shh. Just feel.” Those eyes twinkled at him, almost danced. Almost.
Oh, how he laughed. “Always hushing me,” he whispered, hips moving with Dent's hand.
"You look happy.” Oh. Oh. Dent smiled, watching him, thumb pushing him harder.
"You make me happy,” he managed before he gasped, so close.
/>
"Good.” Dent's kiss burned through him, lit him aflame.
He poured himself into the kiss, into Dent's hand, his orgasm sliding through him.
Dent hummed, lapped at his lips, touch gentling and helping him ease down.
He was almost purring, moving into each touch like a cat.
"Listen to you.” Dent drew him closer, lips on his forehead, eyes closing.
"I feel good.” He stroked Dent's belly, let his lover warm him. “What about you?"
"I feel rested. It's ... unnerving."
That surprised another laugh out of him. “Rested is a good thing, my dear."
"That's what they tell me..."
He gave Dent's chest a kiss, tongue flicking out to tease a nipple. “You've made good progress, my dear. I'm very pleased."
"Hush.” Dent winked, grinned at him.
He laughed. “Yes, Dent."
Yes. Excellent progress had been made.
Chapter Seven
Dent's days melted, one into another. Sleep. Touch Bertoli. Sleep. Bathe. Eat. Sleep. He lost track of whether it was day or night, cold or warm. All Dent knew was right now. Right this second.
He leaned back in the tub, floating in the hot water when Bertoli came in. Even with his eyes closed, he could smell the man and the tart juice he preferred.
"Enjoying your bath, my dear?"
"Yes. I'd invite you in, but it's too hot for you."
"I could always turn on the tap,” Bertoli teased. “Add some cold."
"You could.” He sat up, nose twitching. “The juice smells good.” Bertoli smelled good.
Bertoli handed the glass over, smiling. “And I would, if you didn't need to get out of the tub and get dressed."
"Get dressed? Why?” He drank deep, the cold flush of the drink inside him contrasting with the heat of the water.
"We're having a guest.” Bertoli dropped the news on him along with a kiss on his lips.
"A guest? Who?” He didn't want to see anyone; he wasn't ready.
"Hercules."
"Herc?” He took a deep breath, finished the juice. “I'm not sure. I'm not sure I can."
Bertoli chuckled softly. “That's all right, my dear. I'm sure.” The glass was taken from him, a towel held out. “Come on. I'll help you dress."