From Morocco to Paris (12 page)

“I probably would,” Zane said and took a sip of his tea.

Davey focused on him and smiled. “Have you missed me?”

“How could I miss you?” Zane licked his lips and put the glass down. “It’s only been three days. And I’ve talked to you every single night.”

“Three days is enough time to miss somebody.” Davey slid down in his chair, and Zane felt his foot touch his ankle. “Even if you do talk to them every night.”

Zane pretended not to notice Davey’s foot trying to nudge up the leg of his jeans.

“Did you miss
me
?” Zane asked.

“Every minute.” Davey locked gazes with him. Zane glanced away. “My body missed yours,” Davey said.

“How florid.”

“But true.”

Zane looked back at him. A little smile tugged at Davey’s lips, his eyes fixed and bright.

“Why do you keep running away from me?” Davey asked. “I’m not asking you to fall in love with me. I’m not even asking you to be gay. I’m just asking you to be with me, while there’s still time.”

He stroked the toe of his shoe up the front of Zane’s calf, tracing his shinbone.

“What does ‘being with you’ entail, exactly?” Zane asked.

“Just let yourself go. Enjoy it. I think you’d have a wonderful time and discover things about yourself you never knew.”

Such discoveries sounded dangerous to Zane, and he didn’t want to go there, not now at least. Maybe never, if the ghost of his father had its way. Davey sat up and then stood. Zane looked up at him questioningly. He pulled his chair next to Zane’s chair and Zane glanced around nervously.

“Davey. Homosexuality is actually illegal here, do you realize that?”

Davey plopped down in his chair, close enough their legs brushed.

“We’re not going to fuck on the table,” Davey said and pulled his tea over in front of him. “This is what I mean. Can’t you just enjoy me sitting here with you? My closeness? My scent?”

Zane took a nervous sip. He couldn’t actually smell Davey over the scent of the garden and the aroma of his tea.

“Just, don’t make a scene. I don’t wanna go to prison in a foreign land.”

Davey completely ignored Zane’s trepidation and started talking about shooting, about going to Cairo, as amicably and comfortably as if their knees weren’t touching under the table, the simple contact drawing all Zane’s attention. Slowly Zane realized he
could
smell Davey’s shampoo as the breeze from the garden stirred his hair. He could smell the sweat-and-soap odor of his skin as well. Zane had the sudden wild urge to reach over and tug up Davey’s shirt and draw his knuckles along his ribs.

“Do you feel more comfortable now?” Davey asked after a while.

“I suppose,” Zane said. He looked cautiously at Davey and then forced the words out he’d had stuck in his head since they sat down. “Can we talk about this, though? I want you to understand something. Just because I don’t hang all over you in public doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy being intimate with you.”

“Being intimate with me?” Davey arched an eyebrow. “What does that mean to you, being ‘intimate?’ Does it mean fucking me?”

“It means being with you, like you said.” Zane leaned in closer, lowering his voice, “Davey, I’m not your boyfriend. We’re not in love.”

“I know,” Davey whispered back. “But we are fucking.”

Zane realized the conversation, as usual, was pointless. He finished his tea and made to move away but Davey stilled him with a hand on his knee.

“If you let yourself, right now, what would you most like to do?” Davey asked.

Zane looked down at Davey’s hand under the edge of the table, resting on his leg. Not squeezing or rubbing, just sitting there. Zane swallowed, his tongue thick in his mouth. They were going to get arrested, and he’d have to tell his mother he got put in prison for being gay in Morocco.

“I don’t know,” Zane said.

“Yes, you do. You were thinking about it while I was talking. What would you do? Tell me now.” Davey’s voice grew softer, fingers gently squeezing, “Show me.”

Zane looked up, across the café. They were nearly alone, tucked away in their little corner. He could hear the leaves rustling in the garden. The breeze touched the back of his neck, caressing his skin in soft gusts.
If it would make Davey happy
…

Zane didn’t realize the effect the act would have on him as well. He tucked his hand under Davey’s arm. Davey looked down between them curiously. Zane tugged the side of his tank top up and ran his knuckles along bare, warm skin. The hard ridges of his ribs slid under his fingers.

“Oh,” Davey said breathily. He tightened his fingers on Zane’s knee.

Zane didn’t know what to say. Davey’s skin, while a familiar thing, felt inexplicably new. Heat rushed through his veins, waking up every part of him.

“You want to go back to the hotel?” Davey murmured. He slid his hand caressingly over Zane’s knee.

“Yes, but finish your tea first.”

Davey sipped slowly. Zane stroked his fingers up and down Davey’s side and then tucked one in the top of his shorts, exploring the sweat-damp flesh below his waistband. Davey leaned toward him, hand resting on Zane’s knee still, sometimes rubbing, sometimes squeezing. The tendons in Davey’s neck tensed and showed in hard relief, and if Zane had the guts he would have sunk his teeth into one.

“We better stop so we can actually stand up at some point,” Davey said with a soft chuckle.

Zane nodded and slipped his hand from under the tank top. Davey’s nipples were hard against the fabric. Zane looked away and tried to think of something mundane -- he started adding fractions in his head, knees pressed together under the table.

Finally they did get up, and the walk back to the hotel seemed strangely slow and dreamy, strolling side by side. Zane gazed at everything around him, drawn to the brightness of the buildings in the afternoon sun. Davey’s arm brushed his, at one point their fingers ghosting across each other. Davey carried his hat, his hair shifting on his shoulders. As they stepped through the door of the hotel, Zane slid his hand down Davey’s back, tangling his fingers in the silken strands for a moment.

In Zane’s room, Davey tossed his hat in a chair and walked over to the open windows.

“I’m going to miss the sultry air here,” Davey said with a sigh.

Zane kicked his shoes off and pulled his bracelets off one wrist. He lifted the other arm and paused, looking down at his watch. He walked over to Davey.

“Let me see,” Zane said softly, touching Davey’s left hip.

Davey looked down, then back up at him curiously. Zane tapped a finger against his watch, indicating the conversation they’d had on the phone about the mark on Davey’s hip. Davey smiled and undid his shorts.

A faint pink mark marred the smooth skin over Davey’s hipbone, close to his groin.

“There’s not much left of it,” Davey said, running a finger over the discolored flesh.

Zane touched the mark as well. He could see the faint lines where the links of his watch band had rubbed in.

“Did it hurt?” Zane asked.

“Only if I touched it.”

“Did you?”

“All the time.”

Zane moved in front of him. Dust glittered in the black weave of Davey’s tank top, and Zane pulled the fabric up over his chest. Davey’s nipples were still hard, and he gasped as Zane latched onto one with his mouth, sucking.

“Yes, that’s it,” Davey said.

A wide, low chair with an extended seat sat next to the windows, big enough to accommodate both of them. Davey’s mouth tasted like mint tea, and Zane explored slowly and fully -- his tongue, his teeth, the soft, wet insides of his lips. He kissed him until he felt confident, and then worked his way down, nervous but determined. He paused at Davey’s nipples again, stiff, dark little peaks against his dusky skin. When Zane finished giving each one another suck he looked up.

“You’ll have to tell me,” Zane whispered. “Show me.”

Davey caressed his cheek. He said breathily, “You’re doing fine so far.”

“I’m not doing much yet.”

Zane continued downward, tasting Davey’s skin, salty with sweat, bitter with soap. He swirled his tongue around Davey’s navel; he felt the soft hair on his lower belly against his chin and followed the line downward. Davey lifted his hips, and together they pulled down his shorts and underwear . Zane smelled his musk, tantalizing and alarming at the same time. Davey’s firm, flushed cock was plenty long and thick despite Zane’s teasing before he left for Marrakech -- in fact, gauging the thickness for his mouth, Zane thought he would probably make a fool of himself.

Davey tangled his fingers in Zane’s hair. “Take it slow,” he said. His eyelids drooped, long lashes darkening his gaze. “You know how it’s done; just relax.”

Zane stroked him first, Davey’s cock hot and slick as he smeared the copious fluid leaking from the head down the shaft. Zane licked his fingertips, and they tasted tangy. Davey breathed shallowly, quivering.

“You like how I taste, don’t you?” Davey asked. “You’re always tasting me.”

“You have a certain delicious appeal.” Zane shifted up a bit. “Let me get a good taste.”

“Wait.” Davey gripped his wrist. “You have some oil or lotion or something?”

“Why?” Zane asked and arched an eyebrow, trying to ignore the absurdity of chatting while Davey’s cock twitched and strained next to his cheek

“I want you to put your fingers in me.”

Zane got up, his jeans undone, shirt askew, and found some lotion in his travel bag. He pulled his shirt off. Davey pushed his shorts and underwear the rest of the way off and took his shirt off as well. When Zane returned to the chair, Davey had one leg draped over the arm, so very casual in his aroused beauty.

“You are something else,” Zane said as he crawled back on the chair, between Davey’s spread thighs. He’d brought a towel along with the lotion.

“What sort of something?”

Davey wiggled, adjusting his hips. Zane tucked the bottle of lotion between the cushion and the arm of the chair.

“Something that kicks the hell out of my resolve,” Zane said.

Even being rusty in practice, Zane knew the mechanics. He opened his mouth awkwardly wide, and once he took Davey in, he just had to focus on not choking, not scraping his teeth. He started a halting rhythm. Davey moaned, hand fisted in Zane’s hair. Davey tasted salty and pungent, his thickness compelling and almost overwhelming, spreading Zane’s jaws, the head nudging the roof of his mouth. Davey gripped the base.

“Zane,” Davey said huskily, “for being bad at this, you’re doing pretty good.”

Zane continued with slow up-and-down movements. The weight of Davey’s hand on the back of his head, though bothersome at first, felt reassuring. Finally, he had to take a break to rest his jaw and reached for the lotion.

Davey looked absolutely engulfed in pleasure, skin flushed and glistening with sweat, eyes half-lidded. He spread his legs wider, draping the other one over the other arm of the chair. Zane opened the lotion.

“Just relax,” he murmured, feeling more in control.

Davey arched off the chair, roving his hands restlessly over himself as Zane filled him with one, then two lotion-slick fingers. The tight heat inside him spurred Zane’s desire. Zane took him in his mouth again, slow and careful so as not to overwhelm. Davey squirmed and writhed so much Zane had difficulty maintaining the task.

Zane finally slid his mouth off and opted to work his fingers and just give Davey’s cock occasional strokes and licks lest he get his jaw broken. Davey clung to the chair back above him, eyes closed, mouth open. He looked painfully beautiful.

“I’m ready,” Davey finally said breathily. He opened his eyes and gazed at Zane, their blue depths tempestuous. “I need you to fuck me,” Davey said.

“I need to fuck you, too.”

Zane slipped his fingers out and reached over the side of the chair and grabbed up the towel. After wiping his hand, he stood and removed his jeans and underwear while Davey watched.

“You want me to get on my knees?” Davey asked.

“No, like this is fine.” Zane crawled back on the chair and hooked his arms under Davey’s knees, pushing them back. “Just like on the phone.”

Davey gasped and then cried out as Zane slid into him, smooth and easy. He clung to the chair back again, eyes wide, locking their gazes, an intense moment of connection. A spark of terror erupted in Zane at what that wide-eyed look opened up in him.

They fucked hard and fast, like always, yet the experience felt unbearably deep and powerful this time. Zane took what he wanted, what he really wanted, and the emotional connection created a certain force behind every thrust, making him shudder and Davey moan deliriously. Zane thought Davey’s neck must surely hurt in his doubled-up position but he didn’t complain, in fact he begged for more. Zane worked himself into a frenzy, a haze of desire clouding all rational thought and driving him with pure need and instinct.

“Yes!” Davey’s voice came out almost a sob. “God, this is how I’ve always wanted you to fuck me!”

Davey came first, without any stimulation to his cock, which Zane found amazing. The way he thrashed and yelled and his eyes rolled back in his head, Zane thought he’d killed him. The clenching around Zane’s cock and wet heat splattering his stomach sent him over the edge as well, and he pounded into Davey, filling him over and over in hot, nearly agonizing spurts.

“God,” Davey panted.

Zane slumped over him, trying to catch his breath as well. “You’re telling me.”

Afterward, they lay tangled in the chair, slick with sweat and other things. Davey caressed his hands over Zane’s damp flesh.

“That wasn’t so bad, now was it?” Davey asked.

“It was intense,” Zane replied. The taste of Davey’s cock still lingered on his tongue. “God.”

“I told you if you let yourself go you’d find out things about yourself you never knew.”

He had been right -- so incredibly, painfully right.

***

The lights of the city stretched out in the distance, fading toward the shadowy mountains on the horizon that arched against the blackened sky. Zane stood at the window, the cool night air on his skin, a forgotten cigarette burnt to the filter in his hand. He heard shifting on the bed behind him, then the sound of feet slapping on the floor. Hands slid over his chest, a warm body pressed to his back.