Chapter Thirteen #2
gave him refuge on his shoulder, running a hand through Sasha’s
hair while he finished in a rough whisper, “Around your waist. Over
your shoulders. Or you won’t be able to…fuck me face-to-face, down
here on the sand.”
Laurie
groaned. His cock leaped. They’d tried most things, once reunited
back in London, and with nightly diligence too. But not that. Not
that, and Sash had been much too discreet a guest in Elise’s house
to be able to let go. They’d been almost chaste in their shared,
lovely room. A fortnight could be a long time.
“Oh, God. Sash, I didn’t bring anything. I—”
“I know. Saw you thinking about it; then Clara joined the
party, and…”
“Well. You know what she’s like. She’d have found the tube and
tried to use it as lip gloss or something.”
Sasha
rocked with laughter, his movement and warm breath against Laurie’s
ear not helping. “We won’t always be fully equipped, you know,” he
said, going to work on Laurie’s jeans. “We don’t need these off.
Just…down a bit. Around your hips. Lovely… We might get caught
short. We might need to be resourceful.”
“I see,” Laurie gasped, doing his best not to give it up and
come at the touch of Sasha’s fingers. Again, as Sasha sank to his
knees in front of him, looking up at him with brilliant, sea-lit
eyes. “Emergency sex, is it? Sex in the wilderness?” Sasha’s mouth
enclosed him, hot and slow, as Laurie braced himself on his
shoulders, swaying. “Survival sex. Oh, love, be careful. I haven’t
got a tool on my Swiss Army for that, and you’re gonna make
me—”
“No, I’m not.” Sasha sat back, surveyed him for a second. His
shaft was taut and straight between them, glimmering with saliva.
Maybe not quite enough. Sasha leaned in again, without sucking or
holding, just getting him wet. The rush of his tongue made Laurie
tip back his head, buttocks involuntarily clenching, spine going
stiff. If Sasha thought he could hold off, he was wrong, he was
wrong. “Hold on to it, Laurie,” he commanded, easing back again,
giving him a look of mischief, sharing a memory of a long-drawn-out
tease. “We both know you can. The Swiss Army tool in this situation
is just spit, I’m afraid, and now it has to be yours.”
Laurie
looked down at him. He was still a bit naive, he knew, and Sash had
been his guide in their more adventurous collisions. He could also
be stupid, when his head was fogged up with desire.
“Mine?”
“Yes. We need to…” But Sash could be shy too, and couldn’t
finish. “I’d understand,” he whispered, “if you don’t want to,
or…”
“Oh!” Laurie suddenly got it. Connections. Sasha had got him
ready, and now… “Oh, God, I do want to. Yes. Completely, right
now.”
Grinning, Sasha let himself be tumbled down onto the grass.
Laurie pulled his jeans down, and together they made an awkward,
laughing job of getting rid of them. Laurie wasted no time now that
he knew what was required of him. Although he had never touched
Sasha quite this way before, the thought of it was wildly
compelling. He helped Sasha over onto his hands and knees, took his
hips between his hands, and drew him up.
He
tasted of salt from their last swim. He was exactly as Laurie might
have imagined, here in the core of him, the deep-rifted cleft
between the taut rounds of his backside. Skin silken and hot, scent
an intensification of the rest of him, earthy and thrilling. He
dropped his head as Laurie made tongue contact, hands clenching
tight on the grass.
“Oh, God, ves’tacha. Are you sure?”
And
Laurie said, “Never more certain of anything,” pressed Sasha
wide-open with his thumbs, and pushed his tongue as deep as it
would go. Laurie held him open, held him up with strong fingers in
the junction of his thighs and hip bones. Held him like a chalice
and thrust his tongue hard past his pulsating ring of muscle,
withdrew it and circled him. Lapped down to his perineum and back
to the target. Again. Again, feeling his control begin to break
down. Again, and Sasha gasped out his name and collapsed down onto
the turf, rolling onto his back, reaching for him. “Yes! That’s it,
that’s enough. Come here!”
Almost
enough. Laurie crouched between his thighs and pushed into him,
trying to be gentle, almost put past it by arousal. They were wet,
but spit wasn’t lube and the penetration dragged. Sasha moaned and
writhed, trying to help him find a way. He guided Laurie’s hands to
the backs of his knees. “It’s all right. This bit…always hurts.
Open me up.”
Laurie
shuddered. He watched, fascinated, as Sasha took his own shaft in
his hand and began to stroke it—diversion from pain and, Laurie
knew, a certain way of keeping him in the game. No matter what
Laurie’s scruples were about hurting Sash, the sight of him jerking
off would distract him completely. He had never seen him like
this—not laid out in front of him, not while he pushed inside his
body.
“Oh, love.” He breathed and pressed gently forward with both
hands, encouraging Sasha’s legs wide, his backside to lift and
accommodate him. The movement eased something. Sasha gasped
explosively and masturbated hard until Laurie was all the way in,
then let go, kept his promise, and wrapped both legs tight around
his waist.
They
rocked to sudden stillness. It was mutual, a natural hiatus, the
silence between each rush of the surf. Laurie, cradled, buried
deep, looked into Sasha’s face. He was smiling faintly, breath
coming shallow and fast between parted lips. The shadows painted
him, warm breeze swaying the pines, calling music from them.
Ruffling Sasha’s hair, which here in this paradise he had let grow
a bit, as if one day he might, despite everything, forget himself
and…
Yes. He
was off his guard now. Laurie saw. His dark eyes were dilated,
fixed only on what was in front of him. Laurie shivered and smiled
to be the focus of such concentration, and he began to move again.
He felt Sasha start to warm and relax around his cock, to reach for
his impalement with small upward thrusts. Bracing on his arms,
Laurie shoved into him, short and deep, over and over
again.
And he
knew it was seeing Sasha like this, laid out, undefended, that was
now ending for him his long, absurdly painful scramble into
adulthood, passing to him the torch he had let Sasha carry till
now. In the back pocket of his jeans—he could feel it, as the
fabric strained on his backside—was a knife. There always was.
Until today it had been token, only a response to Kucharski’s
warning. Now he knew he would use it. That he would have learned to
use a gun, had not Sasha’s revulsion for them been so complete. If
Sasha had briefly relaxed his vigilance over the skylines, Laurie
would take it for him. Even now, thrusting so deep that Sasha cried
out wildly, he was glancing to the forest above him, the rocks,
listening in between breaths for any sound that was not the wind or
the sea. He would keep the watch.
Sasha convulsed underneath him. He raised his thighs still
farther, then hesitated as if scared or overwhelmed. “Yes,” Laurie
gasped, shuddering to a stop at the pitch of one thrust. “Do what
you said.” Sasha surged up against him, moaning. Laurie guided him.
He put a hand to the back of each of Sasha’s thighs, where muscle
quivered under the satiny skin. Gently he pushed, at the same time
leaning over Sasha, even deeper into him. Everything fell into
place. Sasha lifted his knees up over his shoulders, the gesture
one of such total abandonment that Laurie felt tears boil up. When
he was caught, steady there, Laurie straightened his spine a
little, raising him. Stretching him out, rejoicing at the weight of
him. He could see him now—see everything in the wild, dancing sea
light. His eyes wide and fixed on Laurie, his beautiful mouth
giving up silent prayers. To be released. Laurie, make me come, make me come.
Laurie caressed him. Down his chest, over the taut nipples, the
muscles of his belly, to which sand adhered. Then he fastened the
hardest grip he could on him, on his rib cage, holding him in
place. It would bruise, but Sasha wailed and grabbed his wrists,
adding his strength to it. Hold me
still! He found his voice suddenly.
“Christ, Laurie!”
His cry
rang out across the lonely beach. Laurie heard it melt into the
sky, and moved to follow it, pounding forward and up, in and up,
until Sasha whipped his head back and forth and began to come, his
shaft spilling wildly. Oh, Laurie would care for him. They would
share all their dangers—watch one another’s backs forever. But for
now—for this one moment—he was only a man who had come to the beach
with his lover, to fuck in the sunlight, thrust and thrust until he
could drive Sasha no further and he was at last climaxing too. For
a moment, they could have been shot where they lay and not have
regretted it or thought themselves shortchanged.
* *
*
They
leaned against the roots of the great Cézanne pine that had
sheltered them. Despite Laurie’s best efforts, sand and lack of
lube had made withdrawal painful, and they clung together, getting
over it, recreating with hands and arms the passionate unity of
sex. Tomorrow would see them back in London, a city now as
unimaginable as this place had been to them from there.
Tomorrow—work and long hours and the vagaries of an English spring.
Raising his mouth from Sasha’s sweat-dampened hair, looking out to
sea, Laurie said unsteadily, “Paradise, isn’t it, love?”
Sasha
glanced up at him. He looked exhausted, and his breath was still
coming hard. “Yes,” he said, smiling. “But I can’t wait to get you
home.”