by Sean Michael
"You talk as well lying down as you can standing. So get on the table.” He hardened his voice. “Now."
"Bertoli...” Dent fluttered, caught and Luttrell's balls tightened. Yes.
He pointed to the table without saying another word.
Dent vibrated, staring at him, that look familiar, one of the things that he'd fallen in love with.
He smiled and reached again to touch one cheek and then nodded at the table. “Our ritual awaits, my dear."
"Don't bind me, Luttrell. In case I have to move.” He could hear the “in case they come."
He debated doing the bindings regardless of Dent's wishes, and in the end, knew Dent would not be able to sink into it if he did. “I will not, but you will not move."
"No. I won't move. Thank you."
He patted the table again, waiting for Dent to climb up so they could wait for this crisis to pass. Together.
* * * *
He wanted to swim. He couldn't, not right now, not with them loose, but Dent wanted to and he could see it happening. He could see himself going and sliding into the water and enjoying it. That was better. Not good. But better.
Dent wandered about, distracted, frustrated, hungry. Hungry? He searched for a plate of cheeses and fruits in the chiller, grabbing enough to share.
He found Luttrell in the living room, lounging on the sofa and watching a vid. And laughing.
He sighed and smiled, shook his head. His laughing lover. “I have food."
"How did you know I was hungry?” Bertoli asked him, smiling, eyes shining happily. “Come and sit and share. Have you seen this vid before? It never fails to make me laugh."
"I haven't watched many. I lived a very busy life."
"Then this will be a treat.” Long fingers slid over the cushions next to Bertoli, enticing him to sit. “What kind of food did you bring, my dear?"
"Fruit, cheese. Crackers. Nothing heavy.” He settled beside his lover, putting the tray down.
"Finger food! The best kind. You can feed me.” Bertoli snuggled into him, and opened his mouth like a baby bird.
"You are quite mad.” He chuckled, popped a piece of cheese between Bertoli's lips.
Bertoli chewed quickly. “Oh, that was good. And don't confuse happy with mad. There's nothing lunatic about me. Well ... not a lot."
"No. Not a lot.” Dent couldn't hide the laughter, just fed Bertoli another piece of cheese.
Bertoli beamed, chewing with obvious relish. “This really is good.” His lover's eyes softened and the long fingers slid briefly along his cheek. “It is good to hear you laugh, my dear."
"Thank you.” He closed his eyes, leaned into the touch with a sigh.
"Eat, my dear. Relax and laugh some more with me.” Bertoli's fingers slid away and a tart, bright smelling fruit pressed against his lips.
"Mmm.” Tart, sweet, he moaned over the bite, nibbling on those fingers. Sweet laughter filled the air.
And another bite, this one a soft cheese full of flavor. He ate more than a few bites, but soon he was done, up and wandering about, searching for distraction.
"Should we go to the room or to our bedroom, my dear?” Luttrell startled him, coming up behind him.
"What?” He blinked, tried to turn.
Luttrell laughed, arms going around him, head resting on his shoulder. “You're restless, my dear. Either come fuck me or let's go get you some focus in the room."
"I'm not restless.” He was ... worried. Frustrated.
Luttrell nibbled at his neck. “But you're out of sorts. And I know how to deal with that."
"Do you? Are you sure?” Dent leaned back, enjoying Luttrell's heat behind him.
"Absolutely, my dear. It takes only the right touches.” Luttrell's fingers slid over his belly and stroked his hips.
"Which touches are those, Bertoli?"
"The ones that clean you inside and out. The ones that make you hard. Fill you.” Bertoli's mouth slid over his shoulders, almost tickling.
"Bertoli...” His cock filled, everything in him shivering.
"Hmmm...” Bertoli's fingers slid along his cock, teasing, encouraging. “What would you like today, my dear? Your body has already decided what it needs."
"You. I need you."
Bertoli's laughter was soft and warm. “In that we are together, my dear. Come. I believe the routine will calm your restlessness."
"I ... it is still a hard thing to admit, to needing such things from you."
"I know. Which makes your act of submitting all the more wonderful.” Bertoli's long fingers slid around to tease his skin in the small of his back, awakening the nerves.
"Do you ever miss your other lovers?” They'd not come back; not since he'd been found.
Bertoli shook his head. “They were not lovers, my dear. They were friends, subs, people who needed my services as a top. I cared for all of them—I could not do what I do and not care. But you, my dear...” Those fingers slid and slid over his nerves, the touches not enough. “You are special. I believe you were from the start."
His moan escaped, his need becoming an itch. “Bertoli."
Bertoli's laughter settled around him like a blanket. “Yes, my dear. Come, come. I know what you need.” The warmth at his back disappeared, Bertoli taking his hand and leading him to the room as the man so very often did.
"I...” He looked back at the door, suddenly worried. “The door is locked, isn't it?"
A long stroke slid along his spine. “It is locked, my dear.” He was pushed toward the table, Bertoli already turning to fill the basin with warm water. “Lie down. I will not bind you today, but you will not move."
That was becoming a regular phrase. “I won't?"
"No, you won't.” Bertoli turned and gave him a kiss. “Now, lie down like a good man and let us begin."
He settled, moaning at the softness of the new cloth Bertoli had covered the chair in.
Bertoli spread the boards that held his arms and legs, leaving him comfortably spread eagle. Then the washing began, Bertoli humming and laughing gently, his enjoyment in the act obvious.
Dent relaxed, eyes closed as he drifted in and out. This part was his favorite—better than the sex, better than the passion. This ritual allowed him to simply become Bertoli's.
When Bertoli had cleaned him from top to bottom, the quick sliding of the alcohol swabs cooled his skin, the signal that they were about to begin the next stage.
"I would like to take you today, my dear. I want to feel your heat around my cock."
Dent nodded. That would be his pleasure.
"Just a simple fucking.” Bertoli giggled. “It will be special in its unusualness."
Truly, Bertoli was enamored of his enemas and sounds. Not that he himself disliked them...
"Shh. You talk too much.” He winked, dragging Bertoli closer, forgetting altogether that he was not supposed to move. Bertoli just laughed harder, mouth moving against his. The flavor of Bertoli's laughter filled his mouth. His arms were pushed back onto the table, held there as Bertoli rubbed their noses together. He pushed back, the motions instinctual, immediate, not fighting but testing Bertoli.
Predictably his lover laughed, hands pressing harder. “Still, my dear. You must stay still."
"I ... You make it hard.” The humor in his words hit him as he said them, his laughter bubbling out.
Bertoli's laughter joined his, his lover's face full of joy. “Oh, my dear, you know how much I love the sound of your laughter."
He did. He hadn't understood at first, but now he did. He knew. “Yes, Bertoli. Yes."
Bertoli's hand cupped his cheek, fingers brushing the hair away from his face. “So lovely in your joy, my dear. It makes my heart glad.” His lover's look became smug. “I knew it would be so.” Then Bertoli laughed again, and the long fingers slid down his body to tease at his hole.
"You despaired of me. I know it. I infuriated you."
"Never. I enjoyed every challenging moment.” Bertoli slipped a sing
le finger into him and leaned to whisper against his lips. “I still do."
"Oh...” He moaned, thighs tight. “More. Please."
More of Bertoli's laughter warmed the room. “I do love it when you beg, my dear.” A second finger slid into him, Bertoli stretching him slowly, thoroughly.
"I don't beg.” He rocked down toward the touch, eyes rolling.
"No, of course not.” Bertoli giggled. “And you don't ever laugh either.” In and out Bertoli's fingers pushed and spread him, kept him moving with the intimate touch.
"N ... never.” His legs shifted, thighs sliding on the soft fabric.
More laughter was Bertoli's only response, and a third finger pushed into his body, stretching him for Bertoli's long prick.
The fullness of Bertoli's fingers disappeared suddenly, and his lover climbed up between his legs. “I've changed my mind, my dear. You may move this time."
He surged, balancing himself on his elbows as he took Bertoli's cock in. Bertoli's mouth met his, the long cock spearing him deep. They rocked together, meeting each other halfway, the passion sudden and strong enough to burn him balls-deep.
"Love you,” gasped Bertoli, eyes drilling into him.
"Yes. Love. Love.” He nearly screamed the word out.
One of Bertoli's hands wrapped around his cock, the long prick inside him beginning to bump against his gland. “Come, my love. Show me."
"Yes...” He convulsed, body shuddering as he shot, spunk spraying over Bertoli's fingers.
"Dent! Dent!” Bertoli slammed into him, heat shooting deep inside him as loud, joyful noises filled the room.
His lover. His beautiful Bertoli.
Dent smiled and watched, blinking slowly, happiness quiet inside him. Bertoli dropped soft kisses over his face, gentle and warm, just holding them in this place. It was good. Perhaps the best thing he'd ever had.
The comm began to ring and Bertoli groaned. “Ignore it, my dear."
"Yes, Bertoli.” That was an easy command to agree to.
The comm continued to ring, though, the beeping from the hallway quite insistent.
Finally, Bertoli sighed. “Damn it!"
"It has to be Mal or Herc, Bertoli.” No one else would dare. He felt himself pale, felt his heart begin to race.
His lover nodded, softening cock slipping out of him. “I'll get it. This has better be of the utmost importance,” growled Bertoli, heading to the comm.
"What!” demanded Bertoli as he hit the comm.
"The authorities have apprehended Dent's attackers. They tried to breach security. Monk's men had them before they could get to the building.” Mal sounded elated, fierce. Proud.
"That, Malachi, is most excellent news. You must give our thanks to Mr. Monk for keeping our home safe.” Bertoli sounded happy, relieved.
Dent sat there. Staring. Shaking. Mal and Bertoli might have said more, but he didn't hear it, didn't hear anything until Bertoli came back, long arms wrapping around him. “It's over, my dear."
He stared at Bertoli, blank inside. Over. He couldn't ... He didn't...
Bertoli pulled back and cupped his face, forcing Dent to meet his lover's eyes. “Did you hear me, my dear? Those animals have been caught. They didn't even make it to the door when Mr. Monk had them caught."
His mouth opened and closed, again and again, his brain spinning.
"Oh, my dear.” Bertoli began to drop soft kisses over his face again. “Let it sink in."
"I...” To his utter horror, tears began to flow, hot and impossible, completely beyond his control.
Bertoli simply wrapped him in the thin arms and held on, letting him cry. It went on and on, then—with his head pounding and his soul feeling empty—he looked up. “I need a shower."
"No, my dear. We need a shower.” Bertoli made his pronouncement and kissed him hard.
He was too stunned to return the kiss, but he followed Bertoli into the bathroom, the sound of Mal's voice in his head.
Bertoli turned on the water and drew him in under the spray, long fingers sliding over his skin, soft words flowing like the water, though he only heart Bertoli's voice and not the meanings.
"They're caught.” His eyes closed and he sank to the tile, relief and shock making him weak.
Bertoli's happy laughter confirmed his words. “Yes, my dear. Caught."
He leaned in, forehead pressed against Bertoli's shoulder.
Bertoli's fingers slid along his skin, soothing and holding him grounded. “I have you, my dear. And you have me."
"Why does it feel so ... raw?"
"I don't know. Perhaps because you have held onto the fear for so long, and now it's been ripped from you.” Bertoli kissed the top of his head.
He nodded, let the water pour over him, wash him clean.
"You know what this news means, my dear?” A soft, happy laugh sounded. “We can go back to the beachside pool."
"I ... I would like to swim. And ... perhaps share a meal with Hercules and Mal. Soon."
"Oh, they would be most pleased, my dear. Almost as pleased as I would be."
"Do you think so?” He relaxed further, almost sleeping.
"What do you think, my dear? Hercules was a close friend before you were kidnapped. He missed you.” Bertoli kissed the top of his head again. “Let's go to bed, my dear. You can sleep without worry tonight."
"Yes. Please.” Please.
The water stopped, and Bertoli helped him from the shower, dried him as he stood there. “It'll seem more real soon."
"You swear it?” He needed to believe that.
"Everything heals with time. You have, my dear."
The apartment was quiet as always, their bedroom peaceful.
"In time.” He curled into the sheets, against Bertoli. In time.
* * * *
Bertoli lazed in a beach chair, watching as Dent floated in the water. He swore he could smell the salt of the beach, though this was not in fact an ocean. He wondered what Hercules would say if they just built a new set of rooms adjacent to this pool. The thought had him giggling. He could ask the man at lunch. He thought he might, just to see Hercules’ reaction.
He giggled a little more.
"You sound well, Luttrell.” Malachi entered, tray in hand. “Are you hungry?"
He sat up, smiling. “I am, I am. And it's very good to see you again. Both of you,” he added, nodding to Hercules who'd come in after Malachi with a cooler of drinks. “Dent, my dear, our guests are here."
Dent's head popped up over the edge of the water, muscles a bit tense, but with a true smile. “Hello."
Malachi nodded over. “The water looks wonderful."
"It is."
Lutrell laughed. “He thought we should try to convince you to set up a table in the water for our luncheon, Hercules."
Herc shuddered. “I like a hot shower, but I have never understood voluntarily going into cold water."
Malachi's chuckle was almost wicked. “I'll come in with you, Dent. Hercules can be so delicate."
"Delicate?” One of Hercules’ eyebrows went up. “What I am is hungry, and we've been invited to lunch. It would be rude to swim when our lunch is ready."
Lutrell cleared his throat. “There's a lovely table here in the ‘sun.’ Dent, come on out and we'll eat."
Dent slid up from the water with only the barest complaint. Lutrell admired the lovely form, eyes lingering as the drops of water slid from Dent's skin, running down over the lovely belly.
Hercules snorted. “Am I the only one who is hungry?"
Jumping a little, Lutrell tore his eyes from his lover and joined Hercules at the table. “Sorry, I was ... distracted."
"The water is beautiful.” Dent wrapped a robe about him, came to sit close. “This room is perfect, Hercules."
Hercules grinned. “I had it built for you, my friend."
Dent flushed but clapped Hercules in a quick hug. “It is the second best gift you have given me."
"Oh, I imagine I know what the f
irst is.” Hercules shot Malachi a look. “Can I call them, or can I call them?"
Lutrell found his cheeks heating, and he smiled at Dent.
"You do a good job, sir.” Malachi chuckled, spread the food out. “You do a very good job."
Dent laughed. “For a bossy old man."
That eyebrow of Hercules’ went up again, but he smiled. “It's good to have you back, Dent."
"It is good to be home.” The words were serious, sure. “Very good."
Lutrell slid his hand over Dent's, smiling at his lover. “I agree."
Dent's fingers twined with his own, squeezing them easily. His lover would never be the same, but he was surviving. Beginning to thrive. Heal.
And they were together.
It was enough.
He looked up, and was caught by Dent's eyes.
It was more than enough.
END
* * *
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