Chapter Eight #3
“I don’t need to be. Please just do it. Like we did…like we did
on the heath.”
Sasha
kissed his ear. “You’re still stoned from Mama Luna’s
rotgut.”
Laurie,
turning, gave him a look which he hoped conveyed full lucidity.
Sasha’s shaft was now stiff and heavy in his hand. He couldn’t
imagine how it would feel inside. “Maybe a bit,” he admitted. “But
it wasn’t Rohypnol. Sash, don’t mess about.”
“I have to—just for a second. Hang on, love.”
Laurie
closed his eyes. He curled right over on his side, drawing his
knees up. Sasha must have undressed him after he’d fallen asleep,
and he was glad of it. By the time he’d reached the camp last
night, his clothes had been damp with cold sweat, acrid with fear.
Now he was only warm skin beneath the sleeping bag. Ready. He heard
the crinkle of foil and recalled for the first time that, finally,
he had not put a condom on for Sasha the other night on the heath.
That Sasha was doing so for him tightened his throat with love and
shame, and he drew breath to say something but lost the thought as
warm fingers parted his buttocks. “Sasha…”
“Yes. Yes. It’s gonna hurt a bit, even with the
lubricant.”
“I know. It’s okay.”
“Oh, ves’tacha. You don’t know anything.”
Sasha
put his arms around him again, that sacred safety belt, and he had
been right. Laurie knew nothing at all. He groaned and fought as
the pressure at his entrance became tight, then huge, then
unbearable, and then just as he thought he would rip apart or have
to beg Sasha to stop, some spasm of his straining muscle ring, some
part of his struggle, suddenly opened him up. He sank his face into
the pillow and felt Sasha move to cover him. His warm weight was
absolute. Laurie heaved up against it in relief, choked cries
tearing from him. “Don’t let me go!”
“I won’t. Laurie, that’s it.”
Laurie
seized the hand Sasha had pushed under his neck to support him. He
kissed it, sucked at its fingers, finally turned his face into its
palm and sobbed as the hot spear pressed deeper and higher inside
him. Convulsions shook him, reflexive efforts of repulsion, but
these only carried Sasha farther in—Sasha, with infinite
gentleness, pinned him and began to thrust. Curled up tight, Laurie
lost himself in the rocking dark. The tidal movements hurt him for
a short while longer, then, as Sasha groaned and drove into him
harder, found a place in the depths of him that responded with
uncontrollable pleasure. Laurie could not speak, could not get a
word out to tell Sasha not to stop—that his life depended on that
motion continuing, deep and fast—but then it wasn’t necessary; his
orgasm boiled up without warning, a detonation that took place as
much inside him as in the place where his cock was caught and
squeezed between his thigh and belly. He felt Sasha wrap himself
tight around his body. Heard him whisper, hot against his ear,
“God. Now!”
Their
voices lifted and wove incoherently together in the caravan’s damp
air. Laurie thrashed, climax drawing out long, white-hot with the
knowledge of his lover exploding and spending inside him. He
twisted the pillow in both hands, feeling a bloodred darkness
threaten, the edge of overload. Then the pressure inside him eased,
leaving him sobbing in loss and satisfaction and release, returning
him slowly to earth.
He
wanted to see his lover. Without thinking of anything else, he
twisted over onto his back. The movement tugged Sasha out of him
awkwardly and hard, and both dissolved into pained laughter. “God!”
Sasha said rawly. “Are you all right?”
“No. Ow. Yes, fine—better than anything, better than…” Laurie
fell breathlessly silent, and they struggled into an exhausted
mutual embrace.
* *
*
An alarm
clock buzzed, jolting them both back to the surface. Laurie groaned
as Sasha reached to switch it off, breaking the warm, damp
interlock of their limbs. The room was brighter now. Had they
slept? He wasn’t sure. At the moment he was sure of one thing only.
“Sash?”
Sasha
burrowed back down against him. “Yes, love?”
“I don’t want to sound like a kid at the fairground, but can we
do that again?”
Sasha
broke into laughter. He kissed Laurie’s brow, then for good
measure, his eyelids and mouth. “You liked the ride? I’m glad to
hear you say so in daylight, because”—he hesitated, then finished
into Laurie’s waiting silence—“because to fuck you while you had a
skinful of darozha was questionable at best.”
“Oh, no,” Laurie said. “No, I wanted it. I want it
now.”
“Ah, ves’tacha, we can’t.”
“We can.” For all his difficulty with the word, to hear that
soft-voiced fuck from Sasha’s lips was a powerful turn-on to
Laurie. He was getting hard again, and when he pushed up, he felt
the pulsing heat of Sasha’s response. “Can, Sash.”
“It’s not that. I have to go to work.”
Laurie blinked. The quiet statement of necessity—of reality,
falling like a stone into their sealed-off world—had given him a
shock. For just one instant, on reflex, he became his father’s
son. Bugger work. Stay here. I’ve got
plenty of money. I can make it go away.
But he
couldn’t, could he? As for money, he had nothing. Sasha was
regretfully untangling himself from the bedclothes. Laurie watched
him, the truth of his own self and his resources slowing descending
upon him. It was a mix of joy and fear. Freedom and cold-blooded
terror. But if Sash looked pale and tired beneath the weight of his
obligations, they conferred on him a dignity as well. His own
money, honestly earned. Laurie could tell he was proud. “Yes,” he
said quietly. “Yes. Me too.”