His body was beautiful: long-limbed, strong and beautiful. It felt good rubbing naked against mine. Everything he did felt good, despite the fact that it had clearly been a long time for him as well.
Our cocks slid together, the pleasurable scrape and thrust. Like bucks locking velvet-covered antlers in the spring. Testing, pushing.
Bruce's hand closed around my dick, working us together. Rigid thickness poking belly and thigh, rolling against each other.
"Do you like this?"
"God, yes."
"Good. I aim to please." He did too, despite the fumbling, the lack of choreography, the absence of what Mel used to call "simpatico." We were groping our way through the dark, literally, trying to find each other.
His mouth found mine, hot and wet. Hungry. I liked the hunger. Feeding it left me no time to think. I opened up, let his tongue shove in, let him explore. His fingers dug into my shoulders wanting closer, needing closer. I pressed closer, arched against him. He humped furiously. I rocked my hips welcoming the release roiling up inside. It was okay to take this. He needed it just as much as I did. His desperate cries spilled into my mouth. I kissed him, hips jerking. We pounded against each other and then he was coming, wet heat filling his condom. He groaned, his hand clenching spasmodically around my shaft. I groaned too, twisted, ground my hips. My balls tightened, my whole body stretching bow tight--and then that singing release.
"Tell me what you're thinking," he asked later.
"I'm not thinking. It's wonderful." You think too much, Robert had said. You analyze everything to death, Mel had said. I closed my ears to Mel's voice, to the memory of Robert. I gave myself to the moment, rubbed my cheek against Bruce's chest feeling the soft wire of his black hair. His arm tightened around my shoulders. I nestled into him, kissed his nipple.
"Can you see in the dark?"
"Hmmm?"
"I used to have a Siamese cat with eyes just the color of yours. He was the prettiest thing." He had that chatty note in his voice, the rare guy who is energized by sex. Not me. A police raid wouldn't have kept me awake at that point. Feeling safe and comfortable and warm, I let go.
Warm blood soaking the knees of my khakis, blood sticky on my fingers. Claude's eyes focused on mine, beseeching, trying to tell me ... what?
"Who?" I whispered.
Claude's face shuddered. His whole body shuddered, the red slices welling blood, little mouths trying to speak. His lips unstuck. A gush of blood, bright red blood splashing out. A gurgling wet sound as he struggled...
"Jesus!" I sat bolt upright, lungs laboring, heart racing in blind terror.
There was commotion beside me. Books sliding off the bedstand as Bruce flailed around trying to find the lamp.
The light came on, rocked wildly, throwing menacing shadows before Bruce steadied it.
"What's wrong?" His lank hair was flattened to his head. He fingered it out of his eyes, staring at me. "What's the matter?"
It took a second to get my breath. I waited to see how upset about all this my heart was going to be. Finally I exhaled and leaned back cautiously into the pillows.
I shook my head. "Nightmare. Sorry. I'm okay now."
He was frowning. "What did you dream?"
"I don't remember." I nodded to the night table. "Could I have some water?"
Bruce picked up the glass of water, handed it over. I met his eyes and looked away. He looked out of place in my bed with his heavy three o'clock shadow, the brown protuberant nipples against his white skin. He looked ... strange. It came hard to me that this was because he was ... a stranger.
"Talk to me," urged Bruce. "What the hell did you see tonight?"
"I just want to sleep. Okay?"
He nodded slowly. Took the glass from me. Pulled me into his arms cautiously as though he sensed I might resist.
He fell asleep long before I did.
)
