What really pissed him off was the way he was being manipulated . . . that Kovac had got him to the bar . . . knowing what he was going to do . . . and he had walked right into it . . . without a second thought . . . because . . .
No . . . what really pissed him off was the way Kovac had just turned up at his door expecting . . . whatever . . . and he had gone along with it . . . because . . .
No . . . . . . . . . . . . what really pissed him off was the way he had left again demanding that he turn up at his place . . . expecting him to do whatever he wanted . . .
No . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . what really pissed him off . . .
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He looked at his watch. 6.05. He knew that Carter wouldn’t be on time . . . knew him enough to know that he would be purposely late . . . just as he had arrived late at the bar. Still . . . he didn’t mind . . . he knew he would turn up . . . eventually.
He smiled. The smile touched his eyes, warmed features, as he thought about the last few days, thought about what he had done, how far he had been prepared to go. He had been undeniably reckless virtually risking everything . . . and the whole experience had been an intensely pleasurable distraction . . .
But now . . .
. . . now he wasn’t even sure what he wanted. That, somehow, the thrill of the game he had been playing could not be equaled by the end result . . . that it was all going to be dreadfully disappointing . . . an anticlimax. The smile melted into a frown, hardening his appearance. He looked at the table . . . the glass . . . the bottle . . . Resisted the temptation.
He looked at his watch. He didn’t really understand why he had postponed . . . he should have ended it there and then. But he couldn’t resist the opportunity to take it that little bit further . . . to make it last that little bit longer . . . just because he could. Stupid.
Perhaps he would just send him away . . . tell him that he didn’t want him here . . . that he didn’t want what he had to offer . . .
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. . . what really pissed him off was the fact that the door was open. Not wide open . . . just an inch open . . . and he would bet money that Kovac had opened it at exactly 6.00 p.m. He scowled at the door so that it received all of his resentment and then pushed at it angrily with his hand smacking it open.
But he didn’t enter . . . and from the threshold of the door he could see Luka sitting on the couch . . .
Luka offered him what he assumed was a welcoming smile . . . but John didn't smile back, choosing instead to eye him cautiously. He also resolutely remained outside the apartment.
Sensing John's procrastination Luka stood up, took a step towards him. "Would you like some coffee . . . its fresh?"
John shook his head and looked around him, behind him, then stared at the floor directly in front of him as though he was looking at some imaginary line . . . a line that he was about to cross. Finally, with an exaggerated higher than necessary step, he crossed over the threshold.
Luka watched him carefully seeing what an effort it had been for him. "Can you close the door?"
John stared at him for a moment and then turned back to the door . . . pushed it shut. He turned, walked slowly into the apartment . . . and immediately noticed the aquarium . . . Funny . . . in his mind’s eye he had imagined it to be in pieces.
"So what are you . . . Houdini?" Luka looked at him blankly. John waved his hand at the tank. "The handcuffs . . . how did you get out of them?"
"Oh . . . they come with 2 keys."
"Really?" He wandered over to the tank to take a closer look . . . keeping one eye on Luka. "Still . . . couldn’t have been easy."
Luka grinned. "It took me a while but I managed."
Bending down slightly John peered into the tank and saw the key glinting amongst the gravel . . . then he saw something else . . .
"Hey . . . that’s my cell phone." He turned back to Luka, his mouth wide open in disbelief, eyes wide and accusing.
Luka tried to look suitably sheepish but the truth was he didn’t feel anything for the loss of the phone. He shrugged his shoulders. "Sorry," he said lamely. "Are you sure you won't have some coffee?" he asked again, sipping from a cup.
John turned back to the tank, shaking his head sourly. "Why did you leave it in there? You could have at least taken it out."
Luka moved up beside him, bent over and peered into the tank. "Why . . . do you think it will still work?"
John, still shaking his head, stood upright, moved away from the tank . . . from Luka.
Luka straightened up. "So . . . this is the fourth time you have been to my place."
"Third," John corrected tersely annoyed that Luka could treat his property with such disdain.
Luka, indicating with his hand, re-corrected. "The tank . . . when you were here . . . with Abby."
John looked at the tank . . . remembered the effort it had taken to get the damn thing up there. "That wasn’t my idea," he said defensively.
"No . . . so are you always so easy to manipulate?" he asked flatly.
John didn’t answer . . . didn’t need to answer . . . the color rising in his cheeks said it all.
Luka studied him thoughtfully . . . perhaps he wouldn’t send him away after all. He put down his cup, walked over to him . . . pushed him . . . gently . . . towards the bedroom.
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They stood in front of each other, dimly lit by the soft glow of fading daylight. Luka thought about closing the blinds but decided against it, liking the strange shadows that were being cast across the room. They both remained silent . . . Luka by choice . . . John because he didn’t know what to say. He stood there watching, waiting . . . to see if Luka was really going to go through with this.
Luka looked down at the floor, chewing on his bottom lip. Then, abruptly, he crossed his arms over his torso, took hold of the hem of his sweatshirt and pulled it up over his head. He tossed the sweatshirt to one side, moved his hands to his pants, unbuttoned, unzipped and pushed them down, kicked them off.
John cast his eyes over Luka’s body, acutely aware that he seemed to be totally comfortable being naked in front of him, pulling his cock away from his balls in a perfectly natural action.
Luka was looking at John as he was looking at him and John, suddenly conscious of his eyes upon him looked up. He met his stare . . . and refused to be intimidated by it. He held it as he took off his jacket, tossed it to one side, then bending over he undid the laces on his shoes, pulled them off, stripped off his socks. His sweatshirt and T-shirt followed. Then, finally he unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, pushed them down with his boxers and kicked them to one side.
Luka studied him carefully. He was intimately acquainted with several parts of John’s anatomy already but he had only seen parts not the whole. His mind reeled . . . at the fact that John Carter was standing naked in front of him . . .
He moved closer towards him, noting John tense. He smiled softly. "You want it, want me to fuck you. It’s why you’re here."
He reached out quickly with his right hand and grabbed at John’s soft cock, squeezing it gently. Then, just as quickly, he let go, moved his hand up, sliding it over his stomach feeling the muscles contract . . . and Luka was surprised . . . that John seemed more comfortable with him touching his genitals than he was his scars.
Keeping his hand flat on his stomach he moved to John’s right side and placed his left hand in the small of his back. He kept perfectly still allowing him to become accustomed to the feel of him, watching him carefully . . .
. . . and John fought all of his natural instincts. He stood there . . . trying to concentrate on his breathing . . . in fact, just trying to remember to breathe.
Luka repositioned himself, moving further to the back of him, tilting his head to let his eyes roam over the nape of his neck, across his shoulders, down his spine . . . and was struck by the sight of the two scars on his lower back. Each just over an inch long they were more shocking than the surgical scars on his abdomen . . . more shocking because they were made with the intent to wound . . . to kill . . .
He raised his left hand and reached out, tentatively touched them, brushing them lightly with his fingers. John flinched . . . but Luka was expecting it and steadied him with his right hand, sliding it up so his arm caged his chest.
John was split in two by conflicting emotions. Part of him wanted to move away . . . desperately so . . . but the other part of him was utterly transfixed. No one had ever touched them like that. In fact, no one had ever really touched them . . ..
Luka abruptly removed both of his hands and moved slightly away from him, stood behind him, not touching him. He closed his eyes, still not fully believing that he had him here . . . like this. John, conscious of Luka’s breath on the back of his neck, shuddered and his skin prickled in a sudden tidal wave that flooded over his body.
Luka opened his eyes and noticed the small shuddering movement . . . and watched as the movements intensified so that John was now positively shaking. Luka instantly felt alarmed, believing that all this was proving too much for him. He swiftly moved from behind him to face him . . .
. . . John’s face was split by a wide ludicrous grin. Luka stared at him, believing that he was in the throes of some kind of hysteria . . .
John was hysterical . . . with laughter. He put his hand to his mouth and tried to wipe the smile from his face. "I’m . . . sorry," he said breathlessly, before giving in again to whatever it was that was making him laugh.
Luka folded his arms impatiently, looked down at the floor, up at John, up at the ceiling, down at John. "Finished."
John tried nodding his head . . . but he lost it again . . . ended up shaking it from side to side. "I’m sorry . . .it’s just . . . you know . . . this . . . has got to be the . . . most bizarre . . . thing . . . I have ever experienced."
Luka decided to put his behavior down to nervousness . . . but it was beginning to piss him off.
John finally pulled himself together. "So . . . do you do this a lot?" he asked smiling broadly.
Luka didn’t answer. He unfolded his arms, walked to the nightstand and opened a drawer. He pulled something out and then threw whatever it was on to the bed. John looked at the bed and his eyes widened, the smile abruptly wiped from his face.
He looked over at Luka. "No way."
"Winner does whatever he wants . . . remember . . . you agreed."
John shook his head again, this time much more violently. "No . . . I never thought that . . . it would involve . . . " he trailed off.
"Not my fault you have no imagination."
"My imagination works fine . . . But there is no way that I am going to let you . . . handcuff me . . . not after . . . what happened . . . before."
"Then go," Luka snapped, " Get out . . . and I’ll know that you are a coward . . . a hypocrite. That if the positions were reversed . . . I would do whatever you asked."
"If the positions were reversed?" John walked towards him waving his hands in the air. "If the positions were reversed . . . we wouldn’t be in this position." He stopped walking, suddenly conscious of his nakedness.
He wrapped his arms around his chest, trying to calm himself. "Look . . . we both know that this is all about control. Everything you’ve done . . . to manipulate me . . . because you knew . . . how I would react. And it ended in a ridiculous . . . I mean . . . really ridiculous . . . stupid . . . bet . . . which I really didn’t think about . . . And I’m here . . . I showed up . . . so why don’t you just . . . get it over with . . . and then we can just . . . forget about it."
Luka stared at him. "The nature of the bet doesn’t matter . . . it could have been decided on the flip of a coin. It doesn’t alter the fact that you agreed. You had as much chance of winning as I did."
John didn’t say anything. He was studying Luka closely searching his face trying to gauge something that he didn’t understand . . . perhaps wasn’t capable of understanding.
Luka walked to the bed, reached down, picked up the handcuffs. "You’re wasting my time. Decide."
John looked at the floor. He couldn’t believe this . . . and then it finally dawned on him what Luka had meant . . . by consolation prize. He closed his eyes . . . remembered what it felt like before . . . on the bed.
He couldn’t do it.
Without giving Luka another glance he stepped over to his clothes, picked up his tangled T-shirt and sweatshirt, pulled them apart.
Luka watched for a moment and then walked over to him, pulling the shirts from his hands. He then took John’s right hand and placed the handcuffs into it, curling his fingers around his.
John shook his head. "No . . . I won’t let you do that."
Luka nodded his head. "It’s what we agreed."
John shook his head again and Luka moved closer to him . . . so close that his genitals brushed against his hip . . . and John felt the warmth . . .the heat coming from his body. Luka took hold of the back of his neck with his left hand, massaged it gently. He slid his right hand across his stomach, down around his balls, slid between his thighs.
"You don’t trust me."
John snorted. "Yeah, something like that."
Again, he looked into Luka’s face, into his eyes, searching for something . . . anything. "Is this about me . . . or about you?"
The question was unexpected and Luka didn’t know how to reply . . . and his face betrayed him.
. . . and John saw it . . . saw that Luka had no clearer sense of what this was about than he did. He shook his head perplexed. Then his mind went blank, as though paralyzed by the weight of the decision . . .
Luka made the decision. He retrieved the handcuffs from John’s hand . . . and snapped one cuff on to his wrist. The sound brought John to his senses . . . but still he failed to act.
Luka watched him carefully . . . and realized he had been holding his breath. He exhaled sharply, breathed in deeply . . . and felt dizzy from a sudden rush of adrenaline. "Lie down," he managed to say, pushing John gently towards the bed . . .
. . . and John allowed himself to be directed . . . controlled. He sat on the edge of the bed, slid into the middle, and lay down, placing his head on the pillow as Luka leant forward and took hold of the cuff hanging off his right wrist and pulled.
"You need to move down a bit." He said it so casually it was almost mundane . . .
. . . and John did as he was told, sliding down, as Luka pulled his arm up above his head, putting the handcuff through the bed frame. "Give me your other hand."
But this time John didn’t move. He looked up at Luka, swallowing hard, knowing that this was his last chance to back out. "Don’t I have to have a safe word or something?" he asked, trying to smile.
"You don’t need one."
"Why not?"
"You’re not in any danger."
John sought out his eyes, wanting to believe that he meant it . . . but there was no way of knowing. Luka’s face was once again, unreadable, a blank mask. He closed his eyes, not understanding why he was doing this. He lifted his left hand and shut down his mind as Luka snapped the cuff on to his wrist.
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Luka moved to the foot of the bed and turned to face him . . . and was instantly turned on by what he saw. And John saw it . . . saw how much it was turning him on. He tentatively pulled on the handcuffs flexing his wrists, his fingers . . . He stared at the ceiling, conscious of his heart pounding in his chest.
Luka knelt on the end of the bed and grabbed hold of John’s feet, one in each hand, gripping them firmly, massaging small circles into his soles with his thumbs. John eyed him warily trying not to react. Luka moved from his feet to his ankles, kneading the skin, made his way up his shins to his knees. He knee-walked further between John’s thighs gently pushing them apart with his hands. John automatically tensed the muscles, pushing his thighs back down.
Luka smiled and looked into John’s face . . . and was once again overwhelmed, by the fact that he had him here . . . like this. Every area of his body was open to him. He closed his eyes . . . relishing the moment . . .
He resumed his exploration running his hands lightly over John’s torso, lightly touching him, one hand on each side. He slid his hands up through his armpits, stroking gently with his fingertips. It felt ticklish and John flinched and flexed as Luka moved up his arms to his wrists hanging locked above his head. Luka retraced his path, sliding back down and moved his hands around John’s neck and slowly over his chest . . .
. . . and remembered . . . that night. The night he thought he was too drunk to remember . . . when he wanted to hurt him . . . but didn’t . . .
. . . he reached over John’s body to the drawer of the nightstand
"No blindfold . . . I want . . . need . . . to see."
Luka shook his head. "I want you to see."
John was reassured . . . but wondered if Luka hadn’t wanted him to see whether or not he would have used a blindfold.
Luka took something out of the drawer, palmed it in his hand, crawled back over him and placed whatever it was between his thighs. John raised his head up, straining his neck to try and see what it was. He couldn’t see . . . and he didn’t ask.
Luka placed his hands on John’s chest fanning his fingers along the curve of his ribs. He could feel John’s heart beating rapidly in his chest. "Relax," he whispered.
Easier said then done but John tried . . . tried to control his breathing, tried to relax his muscles.
Luka slid his hands down past John’s waist, over his hips and down the outside of his thighs. When he reached his knees he moved his hands to the inside of them, and slowly, teasingly, moved up towards his groin. Fingertips stroked his balls . . . and John finally gave in to the sensations that Luka was administering and he exhaled softly, unwittingly emitting a long sigh.
Such prolonged consideration on John’s anatomy had the desired effect and Luka turned his attention to the now hard shaft of John’s cock, sliding the fingers of his right hand up and down its length as his left hand firmly gripped the base. Then fingers delicately played around and over the head in tiny figures of eight. Again, John admitted his approval by emitting another long sigh.
Keeping his left hand firmly on the base of John’s cock Luka slid his right hand up over his chest, toying with his left nipple, rolling it between his fingers. He then, unexpectedly, pinched the nipple . . . hard . . .and was met by what he found to be a pleasing intake of breath as John gasped at the pain, writhing beneath the fingers until Luka decided to let go.
The next sensation caused John to pull against the handcuffs violently, as Luka retrieved what he had placed between his thighs, concealing it in his hand, and John felt the sharp teeth of a clamp bite into his nipple, the spring taking tight hold on his flesh. His toes curled and he bucked wildly held only in place by the weight of Luka now straddling his groin.
"Oh fuck," he cried out. The pain was intense, harsh . . . and temporary . . . dying back to a bearable level. He glared at Luka but tried not to show how much it hurt. Luka smiled at him, moving back between his legs, then raked his hands roughly over his neck, stomach and thighs, slid his hands back up to tug on the clamp causing John to groan loudly.
Luka leant forward over John’s chest and his mouth found his other nipple, biting and sucking it, scraping his stubble over it. Then he moved down to trace the tip of his tongue along the length of John's cock. He did it slowly, deliberately . . . and John’s breathing became ragged as the warm, wet tongue teased him.
Then it was gone as Luka lifted his head and, with his left hand, grabbed hold of John’s balls, gripping them tightly . . . and John knew what was coming as Luka pulled down . . . sharply. He recoiled at the pain.
"Fuck you." he spat.
Luka, ignoring the response, pushed his hand on to John’s stomach forcing him to lie flat on the bed. "Try not to arch your back . . . you might strain it."
"You’re . . . fucking . . . torturing me . . . . . . and you’re worried . . . . . . . . about my back"
Luka grinned at the obvious irony . . . then pushed John’s legs apart as far as they would go. Wetting two fingers in his mouth, coating them liberally, he tried to push into him. He felt resistance and grinned. "What’s the matter . . . it’s why you’re here."
"Fuck you." Irritated John pushed his legs back down again firmly tensing the muscles in his thighs. The thought crossed John’s his mind that Luka was right . . . that maybe he didn’t have an imagination. He’d given control of his body to another man . . . a man he didn’t know. He certainly didn’t know he was capable of . . . this. The pain he could take . . . he’d suffered far worse but what else had he got in mind.
Luka reached out his hand to John’s chest and removed the clamp . . . and John was hit by a rush of pain like nothing he’d felt before as the blood returned to his tortured skin. He writhed, crushing the back of his head into the pillow, grimacing at the pain.
"Oh shit. Oh fuck." He lifted his head up and glared at Luka, pulling on the handcuffs. "Take these off . . . now."
Luka smiled, bent down and took John’s cock into his mouth. He bit, chewed, and sucked in an unbelievable medley of pleasure and pain making John writhe in sudden unexpected ecstasy . . .
John’s moans gradually became more desperate and the bed frame rattled as he pulled at the cuffs. He was bathed in sweat, nipples fully hard, chest heaving, head thrown back with his eyes shut tight.
Luka sensing how close he was stopped suddenly and pulled himself up so his face was over his. "Look at me."
John opened his eyes and a look flashed across his face . . . anger, irritation . . . and something else. It lasted a fraction of a second but it was there and Luka saw it.
"Tell me what you want"
But John twisted his head to the side refusing to say anything.
Luka resumed his assault on John’s body but this time avoiding all contact with his genitals. He caressed his hips, digging his thumbs in to his skin, raked his hands over his chest, leaving fine pink trails on his pale skin, he bit down on his nipples . . . and John was now crying out incessantly.
"Oh God . . . Stop. Stop. Stop."
"Tell me what you want."
"I want . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . to cum."
Satisfied with the response Luka moved between John’s legs, placed his hands on his thighs, feeling the tensed hard muscle under the feverishly hot skin. He pushed them apart . . . and this time John’s legs remained where he put them. He took a pillow, raised John’s ass and pushed it underneath.
Luka looked down at John’s face . . . and smiled. His eyes were, once again, shut tight. He pushed John’s legs up higher, wet two fingers in his mouth and slid them oh so easily into John’s opening, feeling it stop fighting him. John let out a long, desperate moan.
"Shhh." Luka soothed. He worked his fingers inside him, opening him further, playing with him, stroking him, making him writhe . . .
. . . he removed his fingers, crawled his arms over Johns thighs placed his face over his. But John still didn’t open his eyes. Luka reached over to the nightstand drawer and retrieved a condom and some lotion. His own cock had oozed copiously and he smeared it around the head. He then rolled the condom over and down his shaft . . . conscious that John was now watching him intently. He squeezed the lotion into his hand and smeared it over the sheath, smeared the remainder around and in John’s asshole.
Luka grabbed John’s legs pulling them up and kneeling forward he placed the tip of his cock at his opening and pushed gently . . . and before John could react to any hint of pain he let go of one leg and grabbed John’s erection stroking it firmly.
"Oh God . . . fuck mmmm."
Luka stared at John’s tormented face. "Say it," he insisted. But John gritted his teeth, once again, refusing to say anything.
Settling his weight on his knees Luka pressed forward slowly, gently. He felt the resistance ease as the slicked end of his rock hard cock poked at John’s anus. He leaned in further and John’s body yielded as Luka’s cock head slid through and John automatically clenched around it.
They both groaned . . . Luka from the sheer pleasure as the hot opening absorbed him . . . John from feeling the pain of his penetration. Luka held still, resisting the urge to drive further in, watching as John’s nostrils flared with the effort he made to not show that it hurt.
John tried to relax his muscles and finally the pain receded and the grimace left his face. Sensing that he was ready Luka allowed his weight to press down and his throbbing cock slowly but firmly, slipped further inside and John opened himself taking possession of Luka’s manhood
The heat of the body wrapping around him, the unbelievable softness, the overwhelming tightness which gripped at his shaft, aroused Luka more than he knew possible. His whole body was infused with passion. He pushed onwards . . . and gasped with the pleasure and the realization that he was fully buried within the man beneath him. He stopped, willing himself to relax, knowing that he could cum at any moment, the pleasure was that intense.
Luka looked down and was stunned by the vision beneath him. "Look at yourself. I'm all the way inside of you."
Leaning forward Luka braced his hands on John’s shoulders and bent down to capture his mouth in a hard grinding, passionate kiss. Then, breaking free, he pulled himself up, once more taking hold of John’s legs, and started to move back and forth. He grunted softly as he pumped in and out, his body reeling with the sensations he was experiencing. Increasing the speed of his thrusts, he began to sweat and gasp as he focused on the power he felt between his legs.
For John every nerve in his body tingled, every part of his being screamed out as he gave in to the waves of exploding pleasure as he was rocked back and forth. He clenched at the invasion as it was pulled from him, and opened again to take more and more of it as Luka thrust deeper back into him.
Luka pounded harder and faster . . . wanting to be further inside of him needing to be joined completely with him. He forgot all else but the moment, the intense pleasure, the total sensation.
John opened his eyes and looked up. The sight of Luka took his breath away, coated in sweat, driven by pure animal instinct to bury himself into him, eyes glazed.
"Oh God . . . " Luka panted as he plowed into him.
John locked his legs around Luka’s hips and pulled him harder into himself, ramming his body against him.
The effect on Luka was devastating. With a strangled yell, he arched his back, pulling himself out until only the very tip of his cock remained. Then with the force and power of built up, suppressed desire and need he crashed down sinking himself, burying his shaft and crushing his balls against John’s ass. His aching balls heaved and emptied as fireworks exploded in his head, and his body exploded setting fire to his cock as he emptied his essence into John pounding his ass even as the last drops spilled out of him.
John simultaneously yelled out and Luka felt liquid heat on his chest. Forcing his eyes open he saw that John was shuddering below him. Time stood still as they trembled and shot together, simultaneous climaxes twitching and shuddering to a gradual halt.
Luka bent down and kissed him deeply, stroking his neck gently and John kept his eyes closed as his breathing finally calmed and Luka started to slowly soften inside of him.
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After . . . the contrast was unmistakable . . . with the previous intensity and pain . . . there was now complete gentleness. Luka unlocked the handcuffs from John’s wrists rubbing and soothing his skin. He stretched out his arms, massaged his shoulders, ran his hands down his body, down his legs easing the muscles. Then, gently pushing him to one side of the bed, he lay down beside him.
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I mirror him so we are lying face to face like . . . strange that the word ‘lovers’ comes to my mind . . . but we are not lovers. I run my hand down his side over his stomach to his chest to his throat chin lips nose eyes. His eyes . . . He closes them . . . a reflex . . . I press my thumb and fingers against them . . . feel that delicate, flickering movement . . . it feels so fragile . . . so vulnerable . . .
I stop myself . . . remember again his words, his accusation . . . that I ‘like them vulnerable’. Is that true?
There are so many things I hate about him . . . I can’t help it
. . . but the way he responds to me . . . it feels . . . satisfying . . . to control him like that . . . as though he is the only thing I can control.
He reaches out to touch me . . . but I stop his hand press it hard into the sheets between us . . .
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God . . . I came without him touching me . . .
. . . and now he touches me . . . and I’m not allowed to touch him . . .
. . . and looking at his face . . . is like . . . looking at a blank mask . . .
. . . who is he?
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I close my eyes not able to bear the sight of him. He is so easy to read, all his emotions he wears so readily on his face . . .
When I open them again he is looking at me . . . it startles me . . .
I tell him, "Go to sleep . . ." as though I have the right.
. . . but I don’t want to care for him.
He turns away from me, his back to me. A gap opens up between us, cold, like a river . . . The gulf is more than I can bear. I have to shift myself nearer, mould myself to him . . . press my groin to him . . .
. . . I just want to be next to somebody . . . anybody . . . to feel that warmth . . . to feel their heart beating . . . to feel their movement as they breathe.
He’ll do . . . I don’t want to feel for him . . .
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. . . as though I can sleep . . . after one of the most . . . incredibly . . . intense . . . experiences of my life . . . almost as intense as . . .
God . . . the juxtaposition of the mental imagery is frightening . . . as though I can equate being fucked by him to being stabbed in the back . . .
. . . the closeness is stifling . . . claustrophobic . . .
. . . I try to rise from his bed but his arm is locked around me . . . and he is sleeping so deeply that he doesn’t stir when I move and I have to wake him . . . calling his name.
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. . . I am so wrapped in my thoughts that I don’t notice . . . that he is trying to escape from under me . . . I’m leaning on him, my arm wrapped tightly around him . . . "Luka." he says softly . . . and I have to let him go . . .
. . . the coldness is unbearable . . . I pull the covers around me . . .
. . . but I can smell his scent on the sheets . . .
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It is strange to be here amongst his things . . . I can’t help looking . . . touching . . .
. . . but then I feel guilty . . . as though I’m intruding . . .
There is dryness in my throat . . . I find my way to his refrigerator . . . hoping that he doesn’t mind that I steal his juice . . . I know enough . . . I think I know enough to know that he won’t mind.
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. . . when he doesn’t come back I go looking for him . . .
. . . he is drinking juice from a carton. I watch silently as he gulps it down, his throat convulsing with every swallow. Such is his voracity juice escapes from his lips, slides down his chin, dribbles onto his chest. He brings his hand up and smears it with his thumb . . . unconsciously runs his hands up and down lightly stroking the contours of his stomach . . .
. . . and I am shocked . . . by the fact that I find him so arousing.
He finishes the carton, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He turns . . . and is instantly aware of me . . . instantly wary . . . His eyes bore into me . . . his eyes . . .
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I turn looking for the trashcan . . . and he is there . . . staring at me . . . and I feel guilty. Perhaps he does mind. Again I search his face trying to find a sign . . . of anything . . . in his eyes. There is something about his eyes . . . but it is impossible to tell what he is thinking . . .
. . . but then I look at his body . . . and I am shocked by the fact that he is hard . . .
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I take him to the shower guiding him gently . . .
. . . his hands are pressed between us . . . his fingers explore me carefully, probing, searching . . .
He is blind . . . the cloth tied tightly over his eyes. I am amazed that he allows me to do this . . . the sense overwhelms me . . . that him of all people should trust me so implicitly.
I lean in to kiss hiss him, place my mouth onto his, force my tongue into his mouth . . . ravage it . . . taste the deliciously sweet taste of . . . orange . . .
He smiles into my mouth . . . a deep, wide, beautifully, natural smile . . . and . . . I can’t help myself . . . I laugh . . . gently rubbing my nose against his . . .
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. . . when I feel the brush of cloth against my skin . . . it is strange . . . I know that he is dangerous . . . for me . . . that he does something to me that I can’t explain . . .
The feel of the water seems to make everything . . . I don’t know . . . sensual . . . he turns me to face him and my fingers explore him . . . and I am conscious of the fact that this is the first time that I have really touched him . . . have been allowed to touch him . . .
Then I feel his mouth on mine . . . its as though he is trying to . . . I don’t know . . . devour me. It feels . . . wonderfully . . . erotic.
Then he laughs suddenly . . . is he laughing at me? Part of me wants . . . needs to see his face . . . and part of me . . . doesn’t want to know.
He turns me round . . . and I know what he wants. I brace my hands against the wall and he enters me . . . the pain is slight . . . before it was almost brutal . . . no . . . not brutal . . . primitive . . . But now . . .
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I turn him round. Nothing is said. He rests his hands against the wall, leans forward . . .
I fuck him gently, slowly . . . whispering to him words he cannot hear . . . in a language he doesn’t understand. I take my time . . . there is no rush . . .
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. . . the feel of him astounds me . . . I reach down . . . but he stops me . . . his hand grips at my shaft . . . stroking rhythmically . . . stopping sporadically . . . so that I am trapped . . . not knowing which way to move . . .
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I stare at him while he sleeps . . . it is as though he has finally escaped from me . . . and I am alone.
He stirs and rolls away from me, shifting uneasily . . . and once again I notice the scars on his back . . . and I can see it . . . knife slicing through flesh through muscle . . . I can’t help it . . . I reach out and touch them . . .
He wakes instantly . . . grabs at my hand . . . catches my wrist in a vice like grip, fingers digging in to my flesh. I don’t move, hold my breath . . . and wait . . . His eyes flick around the room . . . his confusion evident as he tries to orient himself. He looks over his shoulder at me . . . looks away releasing his grip.
"I’m sorry . . . I didn’t mean to . . ." I almost say ‘scare’ but stop myself, "wake you."
He shifts his head on the pillow and says . . . "It’s okay."
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Luka awoke early stirred, not by the daylight creeping through the edges of the blinds, but by the fact that he was cold. He ran his hand over his face, rubbed at his eyes, looked over at the man lying beside him and discovered that, somehow, John had managed to lay claim to the covers. He shivered slightly, thought about reclaiming them but instead slipped carefully from the bed and crept silently from the room.
He returned to the bedroom carrying a large cup of freshly made coffee. He approached the bed, knelt down and whispered, "Carter."
He received no response . . . so he blew on the surface of the coffee into John’s face. "Carter."
Still no response . . . so he touched his cheek gently. "Carter." Nothing.
Frustrated at his lack of success he put the coffee down on the nightstand and sat back on his heels. "Carter" he yelled.
John sat up in a panic and stared around him wildly . . . came face to face with Luka grinning like a Cheshire cat. He groaned loudly and threw himself back down on the bed.
"Fuck off."
Luka, rising to his knees, leant forward and tried to lift the covers from the bed. John gripped the covers tightly and hissed at him. "Don’t . . ."
Luka sighed heavily and stood up. "Okay."
John relaxed his grip . . . and Luka ripped the covers from his hands leaving him very naked on the bed, his body rudely assaulted by the cold morning air. Ignoring John’s furious scowl, Luka walked round to the other side of the bed, leant forward and took hold of John’s left arm, dragging him to the middle of the bed.
"Stop . . . Stop," John protested, struggling against Luka’s grip, trying to shake him off.
"No." Luka was insistent, pulling on John’s arm again.
"Dammit Luka. Can I at least pee first?"
Luka stared at him for a moment, realized that the request was not that unreasonable, nodded and let go of his arm. John slid away from him, sat on the edge of the bed, then stretched, stood and stomped his way to the bathroom muttering under his breath.
Luka, grinning, sat down on the bed and waited for him to return. He rolled his head a few times, trying to ease the tension in his neck, shrugged his shoulders . . . grew impatient. He almost went to check on what was taking him so long when John reappeared at the door looking slightly more alert than when he left. He walked to the nightstand, picked up the coffee that Luka had left for him, and took a sip.
Luka watched him for a moment. "Open the drawer."
John opened the drawer, looked inside.
"The handcuffs," Luka said.
John put down his coffee, picked up the handcuffs. He looked at Luka who nodded his head to the middle of the bed.
John shook his head. "No. It’s your turn."
Luka smiled, wagged his finger and shook his head.
John cocked his head to one side. "What’s the matter? Don’t you trust me?"
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Luka flexed his wrists above his head, tugged on the handcuffs . . .
. . . truth was he hated the feeling. Being at someone else’s mercy . . . helpless. He closed his eyes . . . and was unnerved by the images that flashed through his mind . . .
. . . he opened his eyes . . . scrutinized John’s face carefully.
John was sitting across Luka’s thighs enjoying the sensation of Luka being beneath him. He hadn’t thought that it would feel so . . . satisfying. Strange. He lightly stroked his fingers over his stomach. Trouble was, now that he had him here he wasn’t quite sure what to do
He ran his hands over Luka’s chest, brushed his fingers lightly over his nipples. He grinned mischievously and then leant over and picked the clamp out of the drawer of the nightstand. He examined it and then pinched it open with his fingers . . . it flew out of his hand, bounced on the edge of the bed and dropped onto the floor.
John scrambled over to retrieve it . . . and Luka was met with the sight of John’s perfect ass hanging over the edge of the bed. He automatically pulled at the handcuffs, suddenly resenting them.
John pulled himself up, blowing on the clamp, twisted round and resumed his position over Luka’s thighs. Then he leant forward and placed the clamp onto Luka’s left nipple, making sure the teeth took a firm hold.
"****" Luka swore . . . or John assumed he did. He had no idea what he said . . . but he was pretty certain that it was a swear word.
"Take it off," Luka managed to say between gritted teeth.
"Wait . . . the pain dies down in a sec."
Luka twisted his head from side to side. "No . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .take it off."
John reached forward and removed the clamp, rubbed the nipple between his fingers. Luka blinked his eyes rapidly. "God . . . that . . . was . . . bad."
John snorted. "If you thought that was bad . . . you should wait a few minutes and then take it off . . . now that’s bad."
"How could you stand it?" Luka craned his neck forward checking to see if there was any sign of blood.
John shrugged his shoulders, stared at the clamp, twirling it around in his fingers. "I don’t know . . . I don’t like pain . . . I mean . . . I hate pain . . . I lived with it . . . everyday . . . and I hated it . . . you know . . . it changes you . . . takes you over . . . but this," he flicked the clamp, "this was temporary . . . and I knew I could beat it . . . and that felt . . . "
. . . he looked up at Luka and found that he was watching him intently . . . and he suddenly felt embarrassed. He coughed awkwardly, clearing his throat. "Anyway . . . you did it to me . . . and yet you’ve never tried it."
Now it was Luka’s turn to be embarrassed. "Sorry."
John shrugged. "I didn’t know that you were such a . . . wimp."
Luka frowned, flexed his wrists in the handcuffs. "I don’t think this is working . . ."
"Only because you hate not being in control?"
Luka shook his head. "Seriously . . . I have a better idea."
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"Don’t," he pleaded softly "please don’t".
"Shhhsh," he soothed.
"I don’t like . . . that."
"Stop . . . whining."
John clenched the muscles in his stomach in dreaded anticipation and winced . . . as the cold sticky chocolate sauce dropped on to his stomach and pooled into his navel. Luka grinned at his discomfort and diddled his fingers in the sticky mess, drawing whirly patterns over his skin.
John sighed wearily and stared pointedly up at the ceiling. Luka frowned and moved up, lifting his torso, so that his face was over John’s, forcing him to look at him.
John closed his eyes . . .
Luka grinned . . . and then lowered himself down onto John’s stomach squeezing the sticky goo between them.
John’s eyes flew open and he groaned. "That is so . . . gross."
Luka laughed at his obvious distaste. "What’s wrong?"
John gestured with his hands. "I hate . . . mess."
"Put your hands back behind your head . . . people vomit and urinate on you all the time."
"That’s work . . . an occupational hazard. This is meant to be . . . I don’t know what this is meant to be."
"Fun." Luka said simply.
John snorted . . . and Luka writhed around on his stomach, spreading the gooey mess even further. "Don’t . . . don’t."
"Didn’t you like to get dirty as a child."
"Not really . . . the consequences were pretty severe . . ."
Luka looked shocked. "You were beaten?"
"No . . . God . . . No. It just usually resulted in some . . . pretty rough treatment at the hands of an over zealous maid . . ."
Luka smiled . . . then stopped when he realized that John wasn’t. He pulled himself up, peeling their bodies apart. John lifted his head and peered at the collective mess. "It looks like one of those ink blot tests . . . you know . . . Rorschach tests."
Luka looked down. "What do you see?"
John tilted his head to one side . . . and then to the other. "Don’t know . . ." he pointed his finger at a particular area just above Luka’s navel ". . . that looks like a man . . . and a woman . . . lying . . ."
Luka looked up, wondering why he had stopped.
John’s face was frozen. "Oh my God."
"What?"
John put his hands on Luka’s shoulders and forcefully pushed him to one side. He then scrambled from the bed in absolute panic.
Luka slid to the edge of the bed and stood up. He didn’t ask what the matter was . . . he knew what the matter was. He stood there watching as John paced about the room. The fact that his stomach was smeared in chocolate sauce made it seem almost comical . . . but the obvious distress on his now ashen face was not.
"Oh my God . . . I cannot believe I’ve done this."
"Calm down."
John stopped in his tracks. "Calm down? I’ve just spent days . . . fooling around with you . . . and I didn’t even think about it . . . not for one minute . . . not for one second . . . did I think about what I was doing."
Luka stared awkwardly at the floor. "You’re not to blame . . . it’s my fault."
"Your fault? How can it be your fault?" John stared at him . . . a hard penetrating stare . . . It was Luka’s fault. He was the one who had instigated this . . . the one who had manipulated him into doing . . .
. . . he shook his head bewildered. However much he wanted to blame Luka, whatever he thought about him, whatever he thought his motives were . . . deep down he knew that he had to take responsibility for his own actions, accept his own part in it.
Once again he shook his head. "I’ve got to get out of here." He walked towards his clothes, which were piled on a chair.
Luka pointed to his stomach. "You need to clean up."
John looked down. "Oh God." He almost ran out of the bedroom. Luka followed helplessly as he made his way to the bathroom. He watched as John showered, wisely making no attempt to join him. They then exchanged places and Luka cleaned himself as John roughly dried himself with a towel. By the time Luka was clean and dry John was fully dressed and tying up his shoes.
Luka watched as John walked towards the door. "What are you going to do?"
John didn’t answer. He reached the door and opened it, was almost through it before he stopped and turned.
"I have no idea."
To be continued . . .
Copyright Footer', 'This site is not affiliated in any way with "ER", its writers or production company, or NBC, and makes no profit from the show. The ERROS skin is by Brihana. The script is eFiction version 3.4.2© Tammy Keefer, http://efiction.org\r\n