by Hyakunichisou 13 (百日草 十三)
“You’re in a good mood today,” Lew said from his couch, as Russell hummed at the kitchen pass-through counter, bopping in place a little as he stirred his coffee.
“Yeah, I guess I am.” Russell rinsed his spoon and set it in the drainboard. “I went out last night. It was fun.”
“Oh, yes?” Lew raised an eyebrow. “Out, out?”
Russell brought his coffee into the living room and sat on the other end of the couch. “A couple of my neighbours and I went to see this band. But yeah.”
Lew regarded him with a faint smirk over the edge of his own coffee mug. “Where did you go?”
“The Helios, up in the Junction.”
“It sounds like a hot club.”
“The Helios, really? So not. Where’d you hear that from?”
“Because it’s named for Helios. The Greek god? Of the sun?”
“Oh, yeah, you know what, I’m not exactly up on my Greek gods, but it’s in an old factory, and it’s got this”–Russell circled his free hand vaguely–“half-faded Victorian golden-man-in-a-starburst thing painted on the side of the building.”
“So, not a hot club?”
Russell laughed. “Nah, it’s the most low-key gay-ish bar in existence. They book a lot of indie folk and country bands, sets start at eight, everybody’s home by bedtime. It’s mostly an older crowd. I mean, our age and up.”
“Thanks for that.” Lew nudged him a little ungently with his knee. “So, fun, you say? Did you meet anyone?”
Leaning over to set his mug on the coffee table gave Russell moment to consider. “Are you sure you want to hear about this?” Russell’s non-monogamy had been an understanding between them from the beginning, but it had never been much of a topic of discussion.
“I can’t say for sure,” Lew said. “Let’s find out. You can at least tell me as much as you’d tell Moira.”
That was easy enough to start with. “There with work friends, work friends weren’t assholes, craft brewery wheat beer, Swedish accent to die for.”
“That’s what Moira wants to know?”
“We’ve known each other a long time, we’ve got a shorthand.”
Lew turned sideways on the couch to face Russell, stretching out an arm along its back. His voice had a little spark of dare in it. “What’s the longhand?”
Russell slouched down a little against the throw cushion at his back. “We get there, get a table, get some drinks. My neighbour Darren runs into this guy he went to school with who’s there with some people from work. Sten’s in town on contract, some IT thing, so they’d brought him along.” Sten had pronounced it in two syllables, like Steven without the V, so Russell was five-sixths right, Sten had said with perfect good humour after the second time Russell had repeated it wrong.
“Everybody knows everybody, give or take, except for Sten. I ask him how he’s enjoying Canada. We get to talking. You know how it is.”
“I have an inkling,” Lew said. “What did he look like?”
“Oh my god, total Scandinavian cliché,” Russell said, unable to stop a grin. “Blond hair, blue-grey eyes, golden scruff. He was wearing a plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and I may have taken a picture of him in my head for future lascivious purposes.”
“Tall and with shoulders.”
Russell felt his face go a little warm. “I have more than one type,” he protested with dignity.
“Did you go to your place or his?”
“Wow, cutting to the chase.” Russell paused to take a sip of coffee, in revenge for the Your type comment. “His. He’s renting this apartment down by the waterfront. Tenth floor at least, fantastic view.”
“Did he blow you in front of the window?”
Fortunately, Russell had already swallowed his coffee. “No, but let’s put a pin in that thought for another time.”
Lew pushed his sock-clad feet against Russell’s thigh. “What did you do?”
Highrises had always seemed a little unreal to Russell, who had never lived higher than his own fourth-floor condo. The floor-to-ceiling windows had been without curtains or blinds, open to the floodlights of the island airport and the indigo of the lake beyond. The living room had a coloured LED strip just below the ceiling, casting a dream-like blue glow that was already half shadow, just enough for them to see one another. “At first we just make out.”
“Details,” ordered Lew.
“He locks the door behind us, we take off our shoes, and he cups my cheek and kisses me.” Russell tried to imagine how Lew would want to write this. He wasn’t as practised at dirty talk as Lew was; he tended to lose the ability to form sentences in the heat of the moment. “Slowly. Like he’s tasting me, or trying something out.” Russell felt himself smile fondly. “Like he’s not going to rush to get off. Like he wants to take his time. He puts his arms around me and pulls me close. God, it was romantic.”
“Did that get you hot?”
“Oh, yeah, majorly. But it wasn’t urgent at that point, you know? Just enough to enjoy the anticipation.
“He kind of walks me sideways over to the couch, this huge sectional thing, and sits down. He pulls me down too, so I’m kneeling on top of him. He puts his hands under my ass and pulls me close again so we can make out some more. There’s grinding involved. He’s getting hard too. You know I love the feel of a guy’s cock through his jeans.”
He snuck a sideways glance at Lew, who as it happened was also wearing jeans. Lew tried to look aloof and failed, dark pink highlighting his cheekbones.
“He takes my T-shirt off. No teasing or anything, just bam, over my head and onto the floor. That’s hot too, actually. It turns out he’s pretty into nipples, which, not particularly my thing but no objections either, go to town.” Russell closed his eyes, trying to recall the scene, a hot mouth on his chest, a pattern of cool where Sten had already licked, the heightened texture of end-of-day stubble against his sensitized skin.
“I grab his hair, because it’s right in front of me, and he slides me backwards and looks up at me. His breathing’s gotten hot and heavy. I’m pretty into it myself. He puts his hands on my thighs and just holds us still for a minute, which honestly may have been the hottest not-exactly-sexual touching I’ve ever experienced. Then he says in his, by-the-way, incredible accent, ‘Russell, I would very much like to fuck you.'”
He heard Lew swallow. “What did you say?”
“I grope his seriously hard dick through his pants and say, ‘Good, because I want this inside me.'”
His words were like stones he let fall through the air of Lew’s apartment, rippling silence outward in their wake. Russell shifted on the sofa cushion, wondering whether Lew had his answer now and decided that he hadn’t wanted to hear that. Then he looked over at Lew and saw that that was probably not the issue.
“Do you enjoy getting fucked?” Lew asked, voice remarkably even.
They’d never done that together. Stroked and sucked and rubbed and teased each other off all kinds of ways, but never that. Lew had never floated the idea, not through words and not through touch, and Russell had been more than content with Lew’s hands and mouth and words.
“In the right mood,” he said. “Not all the time. It’s…overwhelming. But occasionally, yeah, when it feels right, I like to be overwhelmed.”
Lew nodded, once, as if to himself. “Then what happened?”
“Oh my god, he picks me up. Just shifts to the front of the couch and stands up. I wrap my legs around him and he staggers a little and has to put me down, which is kind of funny, except then we’re just all over each other. I get my hands under his shirt, which, muscles and fuzz, very nice. He unzips my pants and strips me down, except I take my own socks off, because I am not going to be the naked-except-for-socks guy.
“He says, ‘Let’s go to bed,’ so we go into the bedroom. The bed’s huge. You ever notice that everybody’s bed is enormous now? When I was a kid, if someone’s parents had bigger than a double, you figured they were sex maniacs. Anyway, he pulls down the duvet, and I sit down. He’s just standing there, so I grab his belt and make him come closer. I take a minute to appreciate how he looks, because he’s totally turned on and mmmm. He stands there and lets me, just watches me looking at him, and–okay, I’ve slept with my share of guys, and it’s not always mind-blowing, a lot of the time it’s just average, but this is when I know this is one of the times when it’s going to be spectacular.
“I unbutton his jeans–buttoned jeans, oh my god–and together we get him naked. Then he kneels down, which I did not expect, because he’s standing in front of me and his cock’s right there. I say ‘Condom first,” and he says ‘Of course,’ and gets one out of his bedside table. He puts it on me and pushes my knees a little apart. He says ‘Tell me when to stop,’ and slides his mouth up my cock and starts sucking me off.”
Lew inhaled. “Does it make you hotter to watch?”
“You know it does.”
“How long before you stopped him?”
Russell laughed. “About ninety seconds. So he’s kneeling there and I say, ‘I think fucking was mentioned,’ and he grabs a bottle of lube from the drawer. He slicks me up–“
“Tell me about that.”
One of the many things that Russell admired about Lew was his mild-mannered self-control. There he was, lounging back on the arm of the couch, engaging in this ridiculously casual conversation as if his cock was not obviously straining the front of his jeans so hard that it was probably embossing the weave of his boxers into the skin. Russell wondered whether Lew or himself was going to crack first.
“He squeezes some lube into his hand and rubs it to warm it up. I lie back on the bed and bend my knees so he can reach. He crawls up the bed to me and we kiss while he rims my asshole with his lubed finger. Then he slides one finger in and fucks me with it.”
“Did it feel good?”
“It’s fine, but I’d rather have a cock, to be honest. Which is what I tell him. He insists on more lube, and then he gets out another condom. He can’t tear it open because his hand’s all slippery, so I open it for him and roll it onto him. I jerk him a few times, and he is hard like fucking steel. He reaches for a pillow and shoves it under my ass. I pull my legs back and he holds my hips and works his cock into me.”
Lew’s hand was restless on the back of the couch. “Tell me how it felt.”
“He goes slow enough that I can adjust, but he’s a big guy overall and, let’s just say, everything’s in proportion. It always feels a little impossible at first. It makes me feel full and my entire body feel raw and, I don’t know, it’s like being pinned down and helpless and taken care of all at the same time. Like I said, overwhelmed.”
If he had not been concentrating on his words and enjoying Lew’s subtly unravelling composure, Russell would have had his hands on himself by this point. The only thing stopping him now was the knowledge that that would collapse the timeline on this thing to about five more seconds.
“I wrap my legs around his thighs, and he leans forward on his arms. He watches me while he starts to fuck me. Every time he thrusts it’s a little different, like he’s trying to find out what really does it for me. It feels incredible.”
“Did it make you want to come?”
“I’ve wanted to come for like the last fifteen minutes. But that position never really gets me there. I tell him I want to turn over, so he pulls out and I get on my hands and knees.” Russell caught Lew’s eyes and held them. “He grabs my hips again and starts to just plow me, hard and deep, over and over. All I can do is just take it. He says ‘I want to feel you come when I’m inside you,’ and I manage to find my cock with one hand and jerk myself and then I’m coming as hard as I’ve ever come in my life while he’s fucking my ass.”
Russell watched the moment Lew tipped over the edge–a jolt of the hips, widened eyes, a harsh breath and a smothered grunt. Scarlet swept over Lew’s face.
Russell surged to the other end of the couch. “Oh my god, you’re so hot, touch me before I fucking die.” Lew fumbled at him, unfocused and clumsy. Russell thrust against him, desperate for any friction at all, and was coming almost before he realized it, hearing himself groan, shaking as he slumped into Lew’s arms.
“Well,” Lew said presently, “I guess I have the answer to my question.”
“Should have figured.” Russell nestled into Lew’s chest, sticky discomfort warring with profound relaxation. “I know you like words.”
“That I do.” Lew’s hand slid from the couch to Russell’s back. “What happened afterwards? Tell me the end of the story.”
“He finished, we cleaned up, he offered me a beer, we hung out for a bit, and I went home.”
“Do you think you’ll see him again?”
“I might. I have his number.” Alertness pricked him out of his stupor. “Is that weird for you?”
He felt as well as heard Lew’s half-laugh, half-sigh. “Russ, I used to be married, past tense. I don’t think romantic pairing up is something I’m good at. I’ve never been in this kind of thing” –his hand moved in a gesture Russell couldn’t see– “and I don’t know how I feel. I’m not even sure I have any feelings about it, and that’s…odder than anything else, I think.”
Russell levered up onto his elbows so he could look seriously at Lew. “I really like you. I like what we’re doing. My seeing other people shouldn’t change anything between us, not in a bad way.”
“It’s what you need. You’ve always been clear about that. I know enough not to expect you to give anything up for me.”
Russell leaned forward and kissed him softly, no urgency or tension, just affection and gentleness and familiarity.
Lew cleared his throat. “Do you want to clean up and–I don’t have any beer. New pot of coffee?”
“Coffee, god, yes.”
They parted slowly, thirty-something bodies a little creaky from the effects of extemporaneous sex on the couch. Then they drifted back together again, with warmed-up mugs and the thick weekend paper that Lew still subscribed to in hard copy. Lew, naturally, liked to start at the front section and work through in order; Russell nabbed Arts and slouched back onto the pillows, settling into a lazy Sunday with a man he really, really liked.