From Morocco to Paris (4 page)

“I’m sure they had oils and stuff,” Zane said.

They were on the beach, drinking beer. The sun had set over the sea and the water -- in the direct sunlight vivid, crystalline blue -- was now as dark as cobalt and streaked with pink and gold. The tremendous, humid heat of the day had given way to a much cooler, fragrant, and airy evening. Palm trees lined the strand and swayed in the wind off the water; the air whistled over heaps of craggy rocks climbing from the beach up the hill behind them, on top of which their hotel stood.

A fire had been built, and they were the only two sitting by the flames. Everyone else had wandered down the stretch of powdery white sand to where some of the crew had started a game of American football. This was amusing, since for most of them ‘football’ meant soccer and they couldn’t figure it out.

“So,” Davey said. “Oils, you think?”

Davey had his beer tucked in his crotch. He wore a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt rippling over his chest in the wind.

“Sure as hell beats fruity bath stuff,” Zane said.

Elliot appeared, walked past the fire, and came over to join them. He sat down next to Zane. He had on a pair of cargo pants rolled up to his knees and a shell bracelet around his left ankle. He nibbled a slice of apple. The catering crew had a table set up nearby with finger foods and drinks.

“Hey, Elliot,” Davey said. “How’s
things
?”

Elliot shot him a look across Zane. “Things are fine. How are your
things
?”

“Hangin’ like grapefruits.”

“We were just discussing lubrication in Napoleon’s time,” Zane said sardonically and sat back on his hands, digging his fingers into the soft sand.

“I might have known,” Elliot said around his apple.

“They must have had some,” Davey said. “I mean, there was surely lots of ass sex going on back then.”

“There’s lots of ass sex going on now,” Elliot said out the corner of his mouth. “You ever been to San Francisco?”

“You would know about ass sex,” Davey jibed. “Will you answer a question for us? We’ve been dying to know.”

“No,” Elliot replied.

“Don’t say ‘we,’” Zane interjected.

Davey went on, undeterred.

“Cristiano is so graceful,” Davey said. He looked over at the catering table where Cristiano stood talking with members of the location crew.

Cristiano wore all white -- pants rolled up to reveal muscular calves, a button-down shirt hanging open, and a tank top beneath. The way he stood, bare feet dug into the sand, hips thrust out, his ass made a delectable, sensuous curve. Zane took a long drink of his beer.

“I bet he’s really flexible, too,” Davey said. Zane saw the next bit coming from a mile away. “Can he put his legs over his head?”

“Why do you have to be such a damn jerk all the time!” Elliot snapped.

“I really wanna know!” Davey protested. “Can he? I mean -- like, back over his head?”

“What does that even mean!” Elliot got to his feet. “Anyone can put their legs over their head! All you gotta do is lay on your back, and…” He leaned back. “You know! Just pull your legs up!”

Davey wiggled the base of his bottle into the sand, then flopped on his back and pulled his legs up. With some effort, he got his knees over his head in a sort of arrested somersault, his ass sticking up in the air.

“Like this?” Davey’s muffled voice came from between his legs.

“I hope you get stuck,” Elliot said. Zane smirked.

Just then, Cristiano turned and came over. He frowned curiously in Davey’s direction.

“Davey’s having a contest, Cristiano,” Zane said. “Kick him in the ass and win a prize!”

Elliot immediately made to kick him. Davey yelped and straightened himself.

Night came on, the sky over the water filling with stars. The beach seemed to shrink until just the objects within the circle of firelight existed, the people beyond shadows in the night.

Davey rested on his side, his head propped on his hand near Zane’s knee. The light picked out blond highlights in his hair, gathered in a loose ponytail at his neck. Zane had a blanket around his shoulders to fend off the chilly air.

“Do you think there was anything they didn’t do back then that we do now?” Davey asked, staring into the fire. “I mean, sexually. Do you think anything was taboo?”

“Why don’t you get a book or something?” Zane stared into the fire as well, heavy and drowsy from the beer he’d drank.

“They don’t put things like that in books. Anything people would actually want to read, they don’t include.”

Davey stretched his arm out and put his head down on his forearm. His hand brushed Zane’s foot.

“I don’t know,” Zane said. “When I think of Napoleon Bonaparte, my first desire isn’t to know whether or not the men in his army gave each other rim jobs.”

“Mmm,” Davey murmured. “That sounds good.”

Zane looked down at him. His own beer finished, he had half a mind to steal Davey’s bottle rather than get up for another one.

“What sounds good?” Zane asked.

“A nice, slow, sloppy rimming.”

“I don’t believe I phrased it that way.”

Zane looked across the fire. Elliot and Cristiano sat close together on a blanket, talking quietly. Zane looked down at Davey again, then flicked Davey’s ear, causing him to jump and yelp, and giving Zane the perfect opportunity to snatch his beer.

“Hey!” Davey said and rolled onto his back, scowling at him. “I spit in that!”

Zane took a drink and then lowered the bottle, licking his lips.

“So? I’ve kissed you.”

“I pissed in it,” Davey said.

“Really, when did you do that? You’ve been here the whole time.”

Davey sighed and shifted. He rested the back of his head on Zane’s thigh.

“I jerked off in it, actually,” Davey said.

“Pretty moot at this point too.”

Davey folded his hands on his stomach and relaxed against Zane’s leg. Zane kept Davey’s beer and pushed at his head, murmuring, “Don’t.”

“Why?” Davey swiveled and looked up at him, his eyes catching the firelight.

“There’s a bunch of people around.”

“So?”

“So, it looks weird.”

“No, when you stick your dick in my ass it looks weird. We’re just being friendly.”

Zane shook his head but didn’t try to push him off again. He didn’t know why Davey’s behavior made him nervous. No one paid any attention to them, and Elliot and Cristiano were being far more couple-y. Maybe he was still a little ticked Davey had blabbed right after promising he wouldn’t say anything. Maybe it was all those old insecurities creeping up on him. He couldn’t seem to shake his fear that someone would judge him, no matter how hard he tried.

“I think it’s a shit double standard,” Davey said. “Girls can cuddle and goof off, and no one thinks anything of it. Men are too uptight.”

“Maybe.”

“Not maybe, really.” Davey looked down, plucking his t-shirt. “But once you’ve stuck your dick in me, Zane, you’re not allowed to use the ‘it looks gay’ card with me anymore.”

“Noted.”

Zane finished off Davey’s beer. Cristiano and Elliot were laughing about something. Them, probably. After a few minutes, Davey sat up and turned so he faced Zane, looking him in the eye.

“You wanna?” Davey asked.

Zane stared at him. Davey’s long, dark lashes cast shadows on his cheeks in the flickering light.

“Wanna…what?” Zane asked.

“What we were talking about earlier.”

Zane frowned in confusion. He wondered if he was talking about lubrication.

Davey rolled his eyes. “Rimming? Now that you brought it up, you’ve got me wanting it.”

Zane sputtered, glad he wasn’t drinking the beer anymore. “Huh?”

“You want me to say it in French?”

Zane opened and closed his mouth. He could handle the request one of several ways -- with indignation, disgust, or humor. He decided to be honest instead.

“I’ve never done it before,” Zane admitted. “Isn’t it kinda -- you know,” he winced, “dirty?”

Davey smacked him hard on the arm, and Zane yelped.

“What the hell!” Zane said.

“That’s for saying I’m dirty!”

“I didn’t say
you
were dirty!” Elliot and Cristiano looked their way, and Zane lowered his voice, “Just the act, you know.”

“I’ll take a shower. I’ll make sure I’m nice and clean. I’ll even use the fruity bath stuff, if it turns you on.”

Zane rubbed his arm. “But I told you, I’ve never -- “

“Oh, for the love of God.” Davey sat up on his knees, pushing his hair back. “It’s not hard. You lick. You stick your tongue out and lick. Really, it’s not rocket science.”

“Belligerence and mockery is not the way to get what you want.”

Davey sighed. Then he leaned forward. His breath ghosted hot and damp against the shell of Zane’s ear as he whispered, “If you do this for me, I’ll suck your cock so hard you’ll never want anyone else to blow you again. I’ll even swallow, if you assure me you’re clean. Or you can come on my face, or in my hair. Or both.”

Zane made a little sound and drew his knees up. His cock told him he needed to learn new things. His brain told him Davey would only bring trouble into his life. He already had. His cock told his brain to shut up or be lobotomized.

Davey drew back, darting his tongue out to wet his lips so they shone in the firelight. His eyes were heavy-lidded.

“Is that how you get what you want?” Davey asked, voice sultry.

“Let’s go back to the hotel,” Zane said.

***

While Davey showered, Zane sprawled on the bed -- Davey’s bed, as they were in his room. He stared up at the ceiling, waiting for the water to shut off. The last time he’d felt so sexually awkward he’d been fumbling in the backseat of a car with his best friend’s sister. At least she was female. He hoped his father would stay the hell out of the room tonight.

When Davey came out of the bathroom he wore a robe, his hair wet and tousled on his shoulders.

“God, I hate beaches,” Davey said. “Sand gets into parts of your body you didn’t even know you had.”

Davey climbed on the bed and crawled over to Zane. Resting on his knees, Davey gazed levelly at him.

“You sure you wanna do this?” Davey asked.

“No. Yes.”

“Which?”

“I’m just not sure I’ll like it.”

“You can stop if you don’t.”

Zane mulled the offer over.
Blowjob blowjob blowjob!
his cock yelled, out-screaming his reservations.

“Are you gonna run and fucking tell Elliot right after?” Zane asked.

“Only if he pays me.”

Zane rolled his eyes.

Davey pushed a strand of wet hair behind his ear. “You don’t
have
to, you know,” he said. “There’s that one hot Latino guy on the lighting crew. Vasquez, I think his name is. He’s been eyeing me up. He’d probably do it.”

“Take your robe off,” Zane said testily. “Before I change my mind.”

Davey smirked, undid the belt, and slid the garment off. His damp skin glistened in the lamp light. He had nice thighs, thick but sleek. His cock hung limp between them. Zane wasn’t hard either, nerves keeping him from responding just yet.

“So, how do you wanna do this?” Zane asked. “Is there some preferred position?”

“Well,” Davey said and shifted on his knees. “As we saw earlier, I can get my legs behind my head. But let’s not traumatize you your first time. I’ll get on my stomach.”

Zane tugged his own shirt up and off, because he felt weird being completely clothed. Davey tossed his robe aside and laid down on his stomach, sighing contentedly, stretching like a cat. Zane eyed the round, plump curve of his ass, wondering if he should just dive in.

Davey turned his head and smiled back at him.

“Feel me up a bit if it makes you feel better,” he said. “Ease into it.”

Zane slid over. He stroked a hand over the back of Davey’s thigh, the skin soft and silky under his fingers. Davey sighed. Zane moved his hand higher and groped his ass. Also soft.

“Do you think our soldiers rimmed each other?” Davey asked.

“How did I know that question was coming?”

“Mmm, I bet they did,” Davey said. “I bet it was the perfect activity for a lazy afternoon. One of them just pushed the other’s knees back while he was lying on his bedroll in their tent and gave him a nice, leisurely tongue-fucking.”

“I don’t think men in Napoleon’s army had lazy afternoons.”

“I bet when they wanted some hot love, they had plenty of time for each other.”

Zane leaned over and kissed the hollow of his lower back. Davey’s skin smelled sharply of soap. Zane licked up the wetness there, and Davey gasped. Zane followed the line of his spine with his tongue all the way to his tailbone.
He could do this.

“You’re catching on quick,” Davey murmured. “Now you just have to go lower.” He spread his thighs.

Zane swatted his ass. “Quit being so damn pushy.”

Davey moaned sharply. “Quit being so damn slow. Feel free to smack me again, too.”

Zane figured there was no graceful approach, he simply had to begin. If he didn’t like it, as Davey had said, he would stop.

“Fine, I’ll quit being slow,” Zane said. He spread Davey’s cheeks and pulled his tongue in a long, slow lick all the way up the crack of his ass. He tasted nothing but clean skin.

Davey wailed as if he’d been stabbed and nearly came off the bed, his thighs squeezing around Zane’s sides. Then he gasped and dropped his head against the pillow.

“Oh, fuck yes,” Davey said.

“Yes?”

Zane leaned forward and flicked his tongue against him, more specific this time, teasing the tight little opening which presented itself.

“Yes!” Davey wailed and curled his fingers in the blankets.

“Beg,” Zane ordered. He liked having control over him for once.

“Please?” Davey asked and squirmed. Zane held him open.

“I said
beg,
you pushy little bitch.”

“Please!” Davey shouted.

Zane blew experimentally on the wet skin, and Davey nearly clawed through the mattress.

“Please what?” Zane asked.

“Please fuck me with your tongue!” Davey gasped out. He moaned imploringly. “Stick it in me!”