8. CANADA 20th Century #4
“Marshall, how about we finish our drinks and head back to my room? We can get to know each other better without an audience. I’m not particularly fond of group activities, active or voyeuristic; I’m a one-on-one kind of guy.”
After finishing his martini, the Romani witch slipped his shoe back on and got up from his seat. He walked around the table and stood in front of Marshall, nodding toward the exit as a hint for the Englishman to follow him to the elevators.
Marshall did not have to be convinced. He gulped down the rest of his Negroni and eagerly followed the man with whom he sensed an undeniable connection.
He did not question his impulsive decision; this was what he had asked the universe for: to bring love into his life.
Or at least something that felt special.
So while this erotic encounter was not exactly love, it was a good start in the right direction.
After a brief journey through a brightly lit corridor, the two men stepped into the elevator. The polished metal doors slid shut with a muted thud as the elevator operator took action.
“You know,” Marshall began, his nervousness making him chatty, “the elevators in the Chateau Frontenac are Otis Fensom elevators. They were a modern feature of the hotel when it was first built and were crucial for transporting guests and their luggage throughout the 18-story building.”
“Fascinating,” the Romani witch said without a hint of mocking or disinterest in his tone. Marshall could recite the dinner menu to him, and he would have been just as enraptured. His voice isn’t perfect; the accent makes it a little high-pitched, but there’s still a hint of my Aeneas in it.
The Romani witch felt a flutter of butterflies in his stomach as he continued to stare up at the tall, red-haired man with adoration, a whirlwind of anxious excitement.
With a soft lurch, all the passengers within the small compartment ascended until they came to a stop, and the operator let them off at the previously requested floor.
Within a few moments, the two handsome, well-dressed gentlemen found themselves in an elegant room, furnished with a mix of antiques and contemporary pieces. The room was spacious with rich wood panelling and a stunning view of the St. Lawrence River.
They were both only interested in the large, inviting bed, however.
Marshall shared some physical traits with Aeneas, such as the trademark red hair, but the Romani witch could not help but notice that his skin was much paler, his jawline was not quite right, and Aeneas had far fewer freckles.
Nevertheless, this tall and handsome man was close enough and visually appealing to the Romani witch to satisfy his carnal desires.
As Marshall approached him, his scent grew stronger.
The Romani witch inhaled deeply, detecting an aromatic and earthy fragrance—a woody, almost smoky aroma blended with hints of amber and vanilla, along with a touch of citrus.
It was unmistakably Dzintars’ Vinagos, a popular men’s cologne released that year and a scent he greatly enjoyed.
When Marshall’s lips touched his, the Romani witch was brought back to that first day in Pompeii nearly two millennia ago when he first kissed Aeneas. Then, as today, his heart was filled with tremendous emotion, his head swirling with the power of the heady kiss. He felt instantly connected.
Marshall’s lips brushed against his so tenderly, so sensuously that the Romani witch was unsure he could contain his arousal and excitement; he felt like he might explode at any moment from complete happiness.
He bore an insatiable hunger for the Englishman, a craving that consumed every part of him.
It had been nearly two hundred years since the Romani witch last remembered being physically intimate with Aeneas in any form; he yearned to express his deep and unfathomable desire for him physically.
Something he did not feel from the physical connection, however, was the presence of magic. It appears Marshall is lacking Aeneas’ gifts in this life. So be it; it does not define him or make him less in my eyes.
The Romani witch placed his hand on Marshall’s inviting bulge, squeezed it and rubbed the rigid shaft up and down through the material.
Then he went in for another deep kiss. He was a tad forceful, but he wanted to convey that he was fully engaged.
He unzipped the Englishman’s pants, unfastened his belt and top button, and greedily fished the hard cock out of his underwear.
He stroked the thick shaft with gusto as they kissed passionately.
Eventually, unlocking his lips from Marshall’s, the Romani witch pushed the man back onto the bed and swiftly stripped him of his white Fred Perry polo shirt.
He then tugged his pants and underwear down to his shoes and went to town on his cock, licking the turgid shaft up and down with enthusiastic vigour.
Hearing excited, audible moans from his partner, the Romani witch deep-throated Marshall’s cock, right down to the base, eagerly taking in the manly musky scent of his lover’s groin.
The Romani witch played with Marshall’s foreskin, pushing it up and down the shaft with his hungry lips.
Upon the final movement down, he strategically positioned his tongue on the underside of the stout cockhead.
He focused on the skin directly under the slit opening where the foreskin attached.
With centuries of experience to back it up, the Romani witch knew full well that Aeneas, in any form he took, enjoyed having that sensitive part played with and given special attention.
Marshall’s body elicited shivers of delight, deep gasps of breath, and unrelenting moans of orgiastic satisfaction.
Intensifying the relentless repetition of his sexual technique, the Romani witch deftly used his fingers and tongue to stimulate that glorious spot. The desire to give his partner unrestrained waves of euphoric sexual pleasure was all-consuming.
Licking his left index finger to get it well wet, the Romani witch moved it directly under Marshall’s ass, pressing it against the older man’s hole.
Moving his finger around the sensitive pink area to whines of enjoyment, he slowly pushed his finger in until he found the secret spot that gave unbridled pleasure to men.
Then he massaged the hell out of it.
“Oh my god, that feels fucking amazing!” Marshall panted, sweat dripping down his forehead.
After several minutes of unrelenting attention and pleasuring of his body, Marshall cried out that he was about to blow; the Romani witch moved his mouth off the man’s cock to watch the show, his hand taking over to finish working his lover’s cock.
The Englishman soon convulsed in a state of ecstasy; his ass clenched around the man’s finger, and he came like a fire hose, spurting across his hairy chest.
When the explosive action finally relented, the Romani witch pulled his finger out of Marshall’s ass and then moved his mouth back over his dick, sucking it clean.
When done, he pulled back from the man’s still surprisingly erect cock.
Bringing his smiling face up, the Roman witch was pleased to see his lover’s delighted grin.
“That was—I mean, that was—!” Marshall, breathing heavily, his head swooning, was at a loss for words. He had never had an orgasm so intense.
“That was just the opening act,” the Romani witch proclaimed, his eyes glowing with a fiery intensity, brimming with uncontainable desire. “Now, let’s get that sweet ass taken care of.”
After several hours filled with grunts of exertion, deep moans of pleasure, and beads of sweat glistening in the sunlight beaming in from the large window overlooking the St. Lawrence, Marshall and the Romani witch lay entwined in each other’s arms, a tangle of limbs and shared warmth.
They were basking in the glow of several mind-blowing orgasms. The air was heavy with the lingering scent of fulfilled desire, satisfied sexual hunger, and sweat.
Lost in the blissful haze that followed their passionate union, twenty minutes had slipped by unnoticed.
“I don’t know what to say,” Marshall admitted, finally being the one to break the silence.
“Saying that was incredible isn’t enough.
I don’t mean to give you a swelled head, but you’re the best I’ve ever been with.
Not that I’ve been with many. Still, there’s no comparison. That was amazing. You’re amazing!”
The fact that Marshall had been with others did not come as a shock to the Romani witch, given the age difference and the amount of time that had passed before they met.
Still, it was not something he wished to think about.
Those men had meant nothing; they were together now, with Aeneas’ heart and soul awakened to him.
“For someone who didn’t know what to say, you sure said a mouthful,” the Romani witch teased.
He began tickling Marshall’s underside, just as he had so often done to Aeneas in the quiet moments of their first life together.
As he silently hoped, Marshall responded in the same way, his body twitching, a startled laugh escaping him; the familiarity of it all stirred something profound and tender within the Romani witch.
“Stop, you monster!” the Englishman roared good-naturedly, flailing his arms and giggling.
Hearing the man’s laughter and seeing him act so playfully swelled the Romani witch’s heart.
It’s so like Aeneas to be this way—so carefree.
Enjoying life and our time together. Thank you, Hecate, for forgiving my past transgressions and restoring the man I love.
If I had to wait two hundred more years to see him like this, not as that fiendish, soulless thing in Madrid, I would have gladly paid it.
“Say, listen—stop, please!” Marshall begged, laughing through his tears. “I want to ask you something.”