Just Dance
He was a strange customer. Sexy as hell, but completely nuts. He told Feliciano that his name was Kiku, and refused a last name. That was fine, he was used to customers wanting to maintain a certain level of secrecy, but this Kiku seemed to be keeping in a lot more than just his name.
He took Feliciano to a restaurant, a small place with an outdoor café. Nothing unusual for Bologna. The moment they sat down, Kiku took out the appropriate amount of money and laid it on the table.
“You don’t have to pay me until later,” Feliciano had said with a smirk, though he did grab the thick wad of bills from the tablecloth and tucked them safely into his wallet.
Kiku shrugged, such a careless gesture, but cute nevertheless. There was something alluring to almost every move he made, from the idle way he pushed the jet black hair from his eyes to the quick, fluttering way he blinked. Maybe it was because he was Asian, Feliciano mused. Perhaps it was just the exotic features that Feliciano was attracted to, the high cheekbones and almond shaped eyelids. Perhaps not. Either way, his lips looked so delicately pink as he spoke, the flesh on the back of his hands so smooth, Feliciano wanted desperately to touch him, something that didn’t always happen in this business.
But this Kiku hadn’t invited so much as a kiss on the cheek! There was no awkward flirting, no hopeful hints at what was to come later that night, nothing. He wanted to talk about books, of all things! Books, and music, and a statue he’d seen in the square. Talking and talking about nothing, his inky eyes boring into Feliciano’s and making him wild with desire. He didn’t listen to a thing Kiku said, but the way he said it was enchanting. This man was so passionate about his art, so keen to make Feliciano understand the significance of that damned statue!
It seemed an eternity that Feliciano sat in the restaurant and listened, watching his companion hungrily, aching to rip off the simple suit, aching to hear the eager moans and sighs that he could pull from those tender, blushing lips.
Finally, the moment came. Finally, they were leaving, going back to this man’s apartment. Normally, Feliciano left things up to his clients, let them run the show, but he couldn’t listen to this man for one more second. The moment Kiku locked his door, Feliciano had pressed his lips against Kiku’s, had let his hands wander over Kiku’s slender body with rough, nearly rapacious need. They had done it right there, up against the wall in the entrance hall, with Kiku’s tie still hanging around his neck.
And then… it was over. Zip up his pants, toss the condom in the trash, nothing to do but hold Kiku against his chest as the man caught his breath, stroking that satiny black hair.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d simply held someone like this. In fact, he didn’t think he’d ever held anyone like this, and he tried to hide the pain he felt when Kiku gently break the embrace.
And that was it. His job was done, he said his farewells, and somehow managed to hold in the tears until he collapsed onto the bed in his own dark bedroom.
He took Feliciano to a restaurant, a small place with an outdoor café. Nothing unusual for Bologna. The moment they sat down, Kiku took out the appropriate amount of money and laid it on the table.
“You don’t have to pay me until later,” Feliciano had said with a smirk, though he did grab the thick wad of bills from the tablecloth and tucked them safely into his wallet.
Kiku shrugged, such a careless gesture, but cute nevertheless. There was something alluring to almost every move he made, from the idle way he pushed the jet black hair from his eyes to the quick, fluttering way he blinked. Maybe it was because he was Asian, Feliciano mused. Perhaps it was just the exotic features that Feliciano was attracted to, the high cheekbones and almond shaped eyelids. Perhaps not. Either way, his lips looked so delicately pink as he spoke, the flesh on the back of his hands so smooth, Feliciano wanted desperately to touch him, something that didn’t always happen in this business.
But this Kiku hadn’t invited so much as a kiss on the cheek! There was no awkward flirting, no hopeful hints at what was to come later that night, nothing. He wanted to talk about books, of all things! Books, and music, and a statue he’d seen in the square. Talking and talking about nothing, his inky eyes boring into Feliciano’s and making him wild with desire. He didn’t listen to a thing Kiku said, but the way he said it was enchanting. This man was so passionate about his art, so keen to make Feliciano understand the significance of that damned statue!
It seemed an eternity that Feliciano sat in the restaurant and listened, watching his companion hungrily, aching to rip off the simple suit, aching to hear the eager moans and sighs that he could pull from those tender, blushing lips.
Finally, the moment came. Finally, they were leaving, going back to this man’s apartment. Normally, Feliciano left things up to his clients, let them run the show, but he couldn’t listen to this man for one more second. The moment Kiku locked his door, Feliciano had pressed his lips against Kiku’s, had let his hands wander over Kiku’s slender body with rough, nearly rapacious need. They had done it right there, up against the wall in the entrance hall, with Kiku’s tie still hanging around his neck.
And then… it was over. Zip up his pants, toss the condom in the trash, nothing to do but hold Kiku against his chest as the man caught his breath, stroking that satiny black hair.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d simply held someone like this. In fact, he didn’t think he’d ever held anyone like this, and he tried to hide the pain he felt when Kiku gently break the embrace.
And that was it. His job was done, he said his farewells, and somehow managed to hold in the tears until he collapsed onto the bed in his own dark bedroom.