by Sean Michael
Hercules beamed at Dent and took his hands, squeezing them briefly. “It is so good to see you again, old friend. I was thrilled when I received your invitation."
Lutrell discreetly maneuvered Dent so they were walking down the hall with their friends, going to the small alcove off the kitchen where the formal dining table was set for four.
"Thank you.” Dent was shivering against him, the effort to sound controlled obvious.
He'd set the table up so that he and Dent would sit next to each other across from Hercules and Mal. Hercules and Mal seated themselves, and Lutrell saw to Dent.
The food smelled delicious, Moffat having outdone himself in the kitchen, cooking all of Dent's favorites he'd enjoyed from the time when he'd only been a guest here.
"So, how are things going?” Hercules asked.
Lutrell touched Dent lightly on the thigh, offering quiet support.
"Fine. Things are quiet, but I'm healing.” Dent waved to the food. “Please, eat."
"You look well, my friend. Much better than the last time I visited.” Hercules served himself and passed the dishes over to Mal.
Lutrell rubbed Dent's thigh, trying to ease himself as well as his lover. The tension in the air was palpable, both of them tense. For a moment, he questioned the wisdom of doing this, wondering if it was too soon, but then he reminded himself that this wasn't going to be easy no matter when they did it. They had to work through the awkwardness.
Malachi looked over at Dent, one eyebrow rising as he took a berry tart. “So, do I have to get kidnapped to get berry tarts from Moffat? I've been asking for months."
Dent blinked, looked over at Mal with twisted lips. “Perhaps. Would you like me to arrange it for you?"
"Only if you get Herc's okay. He gets bitchy if I don't show up to work."
"I'll keep that in mind.” Their eyes clashed across the table, then both men grinned, the tension suddenly shattered, eased.
Lutrell giggled, giving Dent's leg a final squeeze before serving himself from the huge bowl of noodles.
They ate and talked, the conversation staying light, easy. Lutrell was very pleased by how it was going and found himself relaxing more and more as the meal progressed. Dent stayed close, knee against his, still moving every so often, but not shaking. Dent even laughed once or twice.
Once they'd finished eating, Lutrell poured them each a liqueur and leaned back against his chair. “Moffat just keeps getting better and better."
"Dinner was exceptional. Thank you both.” Mal nodded, ice blue eyes seeming to smile at Dent. “Would you like to go to the pool sometime, Dent? I can arrange for you to have it alone, if you'd like."
Dent went pale, shook his head. “No. No, thank you. I'm good."
"Perhaps later,” suggested Hercules.
"I'm sure we'll keep it in mind.” Lutrell was terribly curious. Dent loved the water.
"We should do this again soon,” Dent said.
Mal nodded, “Absolutely. It was good to see you, Dent."
Hercules stood and shook Dent's hand, and then Lutrell's. “Yes. You really are looking much better, Dent. Maybe I can have the two of you over to my place next time."
"Maybe.” Dent shivered.
Lutrell almost chuckled. Maybe not. “We'll see, Hercules. We appreciate the invitation."
He and Dent saw Hercules and Mal out and he made sure Dent saw him locking the door after they'd left.
Dent relaxed, wandering idly, restlessly.
"That went fairly well.” He grabbed Dent's hand, tugged his lover down onto the couch. They would talk and then move into the room and he would drive everything from Dent's mind.
"It did.” Dent leaned into the cushions, hands sliding over his own knees.
"So I'm forgiven for springing it on you?” He slid his own hand over Dent's, warming the cool skin.
"Maybe. We'll see.” Dent winked once, fingers moving against him.
He laughed, leaning against Dent. “I do have another question."
"Hmm?” Dent shifted, hands sliding around him to hold him, touch him.
"Why did you turn down Mal's offer to have a swimming pool cleared for you?” He knew how much Dent loved the water. He would have thought that was something Dent would have jumped at.
"I just did.” Stubborn man.
"There is never a ‘just’ when it comes to you, my dear. Tell me why.” He could be stubborn, too. He'd already proven that.
"I don't want to go.” Stubborn and lying. Dent adored the water with a passion.
"No? I guess then you don't want to take any more baths, either."
"Baths are completely different."
He chuckled. “You are the most obstinate man I have ever known.” The fact that this was a part of Dent's attraction did not need to be mentioned. “You will tell me what the problem with the pool is."
Dent's eyebrow raised, lips going tight. “I'm simply not ready."
"To leave the apartment?” He could understand that, but he needed Dent to admit it.
It took a moment, but Dent nodded once, just once.
"Thank you for telling me.” He gave Dent a kiss as a reward, his mouth lingering against Dent's.
Dent relaxed, opened up for him, fingers sliding up over his arms. He moaned, body reacting immediately to Dent's touches. He was addicted, in love, and each touch was a gift, an arousal.
Dent nuzzled in, murmuring into his lips, loving him. He relaxed against Dent, pressing into the solid, warm body. The kisses melted one into another, each touch of their lips, their tongues making him want more.
"I love you, Bertoli.” The words were soft, sure. True.
A deep pleasure settled inside him, warm and heavy in his belly. “I feel it, too, Dent."
Dent blushed, nuzzled closer to him, so vulnerable.
His fingers slid beneath Dent's shirt, moving over the warm skin. His lover wasn't back to fighting weight, but some of the kilos were returning, light muscles a landscape beneath his fingers. Soon, he would have to tempt Dent out into the club, out of the rather ... distant reality they had.
For now, he was happy to lose himself in the smaller reality consisting of the two of them, mouths and hands and working bodies. Such wonderful, sweet touches that Dent shared with him.
Dent shivered, nuzzled against him, tongue sliding slowly over his throat. He moaned, letting Dent know how much each touch sent him flying, how much he loved the way that Dent adored him.
Dent's hands moved over him, slipping and sliding, nails just teasing his skin. He gasped and groaned, pushing closer, moving into the touches and encouraging more.
Dent hummed low, soft words pouring over his skin. One hand cupped his balls; the other was on his ass, moving him carefully.
He laughed, the joy coming from so deep inside him, making the sound rich and wild and full. Dent's touches had always been special, a gift, but now they were even more so.
"Love,” he laughed, hands moving over Dent's skin.
"Mmhmm.” Dent scooted down, lips dragging over his belly.
"Oh! Oh, Dent.” His laughter softened, his fingers trembling as he stroked Dent's head and cheeks. Those lips brushed over the tip of his cock, soft and hot, parted and taking him in. “Yes. Oh, please. Don't stop.” The pleasure was huge, enormous. As much emotional as physical.
Those beautiful eyes stared up at him, warm and loving and so present. Dent took him in, the pressure gentle, the heat near overwhelming. He cried out, hips jerking before he got them under control, holding still. It meant so much that Dent had taken the initiative like this; he would let Dent keep control, lead.
Dent stroked his thighs, throat relaxing and letting him in, holding him tight. Each suck went through his body, lodged in his balls, making them ache so good. The deep purr vibrated through him, through his prick and down into his nuts.
He couldn't hold back any longer, his hips beginning to move, pushing his prick gently into Dent's throat. “Soon,” he murmured the pleasure and lau
ghter building in him. His hands moved to Dent's shoulders, held on tight. Dent's fingers rolled his balls, encouraging him, pushing him over the edge.
His laughter burst from him, sounding almost like a sob as he came, cock throbbing in Dent's mouth. His fingers opened and closed on Dent's shoulders, his soft giggles slowly fading as he relaxed back onto the couch, melted.
Dent's cheek rested on his thigh, breath slowing.
"Thank you, that was wonderful,” he murmured, hand sliding through Dent's hair. He felt as if he might cry, he was so pleased with Dent's progress, with the way he saw his Dent more and more each day, each moment.
Dent kissed his thigh once, then simply relaxed, trusting him enough to just be.
Oh, it had been a most wonderful day. He'd pushed and Dent had allowed it, had more than met the challenge. And then this...
His laughter was soft and heartfelt, encompassing them both.
* * * *
Dent wandered into the small second bedroom, closing the door behind him as Bertoli slept. He itched from the top of his head to the soles of his feet. He couldn't sleep any more, and if he took one more bath he was going to scream.
He read the galax-news feed, watched to see what had changed in the months he'd been hidden away. He stretched out on the bed and stared up at the patterns swirling in the ceiling.
Fuck, but he itched.
The door opened quietly, his gaunt, bald lover stepping in. “There you are, my dear.” Bertoli's smile was warm, as was the hand that touched his cheek.
"Hello, Bertoli.” He returned the smile as well as he could.
Bertoli bent and took a soft kiss, hand rubbing down over his chest. “Are you ready to tell me yet?"
He shook his head, opened his mouth to say no. “I itch. Everywhere. I can't sleep any more. I can't settle."
"Yes, I have noticed.” Bertoli's hand settled on his belly, firm and warm. “I think perhaps it is time to ... go swimming."
"No.” He couldn't hide his shudder, though whether it was one of fear or desire, he wasn't sure.
"No? Perhaps, then, we need to take Hercules up on his offer of dinner at the penthouse.” Bertoli leaned close. “I have never seen Hercules’ penthouse."
"No. I'm not ready.” He couldn't leave.
"All right. Then we'll just take a few steps outside the door.” Bertoli stood and that imperious hand was held out to him.
He stared at his lover, his best friend, knowing he was going to disappoint the man. “I can't."
"Of course you can.” Long fingers wriggled. “Just take my hand."
"I won't leave. I'm not ready.” There were too many people out there.
"Just take my hand, Dent. Now.” There was a note in Bertoli's voice that would not be denied.
"I'm not ready!” He put all his anger into his words, even as his fingers brushed Bertoli's.
"Of course you are.” Bertoli's fingers wrapped around his, tugging him upward. “It's just a step or two."
"No.” He stood, shaking his head. “I'll go to the living area, that's all."
Bertoli chuckled and pressed close. “To the front door, my dear. I know you can do it."
"No.” He seemed to say that a lot.
Patting his arm, Bertoli led him from the room and down the hall. Dent managed until they reached the door, then his heart began to pound, the edges of his vision going nearly grey. “No."
"We'll just open the door, my dear.” Bertoli's hand squeezed his, those eyes capturing his, holding them. “We'll just open the door and you'll see there is no one there."
"Just open it and close it.” Please, Bertoli. Only that.
"Open it to begin, my dear, and we'll see how you're feeling. I am right here with you."
He stood there, staring. They wouldn't be out there. They couldn't be. If they were, they couldn't take him and leave. “Open it with me."
With the hand that hold his, Bertoli reached for the palm lock, pressed his hand against it. The door slid open to reveal an empty hallway, the distance stretching to either end seeming endless. So many places to hide...
"Close it now, Bertoli."
"One step, my dear.” Bertoli laughed softly, the sound reassuring somehow. “For me, Dent. Just one."
"I ... Please.” He couldn't.
Bertoli grabbed both his hands and took a step backward. Outside. “I know that you can."
"No.” His breath whistled from him, his knees weakening, buckling.
"Yes.” Bertoli tugged him forward, pulling him right over the threshold and into Bertoli's arms.
Things slowed down impossibly, Bertoli's mouth moving, the familiar voice distorted and wrong, echoing. Dent could hear them, he knew he could. Waiting.
"Just me, Dent. No one else is here. It's safe.” Bertoli held him close to his gaunt body.
"Please.” He shook violently, eyes rolling.
"You've done it, my dear.” Bertoli's laughter filled the air. “You came out!"
Then, he was pushed back into the apartment, the door closing loudly. He crawled back toward the bathroom, whimpering as he moved. He was not alone. Bertoli's fingers continued to move on him, his lover's voice flowing over him.
Dent headed straight for the water, for the shower. He needed to get clean. The water was turned on for him; his clothes pulled away, Bertoli taking care of him.
"They touched me. They fucking hurt me.” His teeth ground together and his jaw hurt from clenching it.
"I know.” Bertoli took the soap and began to rub it over his body.
"I hate them.” He leaned back against the tile, allowing the touch, welcoming it. He was home. Bertoli wouldn't harm him. “I hate them, Bertoli."
Bertoli's hands took his face and looked at him. “I know. I hate them as well.” The words were fierce, as was the look in Bertoli's eyes.
"They broke me.” His words were whispered. “Ruined me."
Bertoli shook his head. “They might have broken you, but they didn't ruin you. And we are putting you back together. You are my Dent. Mine. And they have not taken that."
"How can you be sure?"
Laughing softly, Bertoli pushed against him. “Because you are here with me now. Because you respond to me. Here, in the room, in our bed. Because you met with Hercules and Mal. And because, as terrified as you were, you went outside and lived."
"Don't laugh at me, love. Please. I'm trying so hard.” He ached inside, down to his bones.
"Oh, Dent, you know I would never laugh at you. You of all people know how my joy spills from me.” Bertoli pressed their lips together, the kiss insistent, tongue pushing into his mouth. “I love you, Dent."
Dent nodded, accepting the kiss, if not returning it.
Bertoli sucked gently on his bottom lip, and then returned to washing him, eyes watching him, hands moving over him, touching him everywhere, absolutely everywhere.
He allowed himself to slowly relax, to accept the fact that he was home, safe.
Bertoli flashed a smile up at him, his lover feeling it, sensing it. “There. You see. You survived going beyond the door."
"Shush. You talk too much.” He offered Bertoli a smile of his own.
Bertoli's eyes flashed, and then he laughed. “Oh, my dear. My dear.” His lover pushed into his arms, wriggling against his slick skin.
He rested back against the tile, holding his lover close. He had survived—he had not survived well, but he had survived.
Chapter Ten
It was Luttrell's turn at not being able to settle. Dent had gone out. Out. Yes, just a single step, yes, he'd all but collapsed upon doing so, but it was nonetheless a huge leap in the right direction.
And now, Luttrell wanted to do it again. He wanted to push. He wanted Dent to have a life again, to feel safe, at the very least here at the club.
He put together a light salad for their midday meal, lost in thought.
"That looks good.” Dent wandered by, stealing a bit of fruit on the way to fetch juice.
&n
bsp; He blinked, startled, and chuckled. “Does it? I'm not even sure what I've put in it,” he admitted. He grabbed a couple of plates and the garlic toast out of the oven, putting it all on the table.
Dent nodded, pouring two tall glasses of a pale pink juice and setting them on the table. His lover was bundled in the layers he favored now, the skin no longer gray, but still odd and pale. Paler than himself, even. He wondered if Dent would ever be willing to go up to the gardens, to lie in the sun again. No, he would not wonder such things. They would happen.
First they would eat, and then he and Dent would take another step outside their door.
"I made those toasts you like so much."
"Thank you.” Another bright, tart piece of fruit was savored, Dent lapping the juice from his fingers. The unconscious sensuality delighted Lutrell, and he sat, more interested in watching Dent eat than eating himself.
Dent picked each bit out, savoring one tiny bite, then another. It was fascinating. Luttrell picked at his own without even looking—all his attention was on Dent. That utter focus was what made Dent a wonderful lover, a great sub, and no doubt was what had made Dent so good at his business.
"Do I have something on my face, Bertoli?"
"What? No! Absolutely not.” He chuckled, laughing at himself this time.
"Then what has you so fascinated?” Dent stole a bit of fruit from his dish.
He giggled and stole a bite off Dent's plate in revenge. “You, my dear."
"I am nothing interesting, madman."
"I am no madman.” Grinning, he reached out, fingers trailing along Dent's jaw. “And I must disagree with you—you are beautiful. Such a sensual man."
"You are biased.” Dent leaned into his touch, eyes closing.
"Perhaps a little. It is still true.” He traced his lover's features, loving how the sensuality that he'd enjoyed while watching Dent eat was brought to bear on his touch.
Dent actually smiled for him, eyes warm, admiring him. Him. It was the most precious gift.
He picked up a piece of fruit with his fingers an offered it over. “Those are my favorite. Tart and sweet."
Dent leaned over, nibbled on the bite.
"Mmm ... share?” He leaned in enough to meet Dent's mouth, tongue lapping. Dent opened to him, allowed him in. Shared with him. The fruit was sweet and tart, and Dent himself was spice, deep and good and not only familiar, but necessary.