I've been here for a few hours. I have lost track of time slightly. I go to the bathroom, and my legs shake as I go, as if I am recovering from some long illness. I look at my eye in the mirror. The skin has begun to darken around it, and by tomorrow I think it will be swollen shut.
I call Tez. As soon as he speaks, I say abruptly:
"Can you come to the apartment? I need you."
I hang up before I hear his reply, because I don't think I can bear to speak any more. Not yet.
I feel very tired, suddenly. I lie down on the sofa, and I think I must fall asleep, because the next thing I am aware of is the sound of a key turning in the door. I don't get up.
Feel sick with anxiety the whole time I'm driving over. What the fuck's happened to him? For all his talk about not going out in the field any more, it's not like his life's exactly risk-free.
Open the door half-expecting to find him bleeding to death or something. He's on the sofa, but he doesn't look up.
"Fuck, Al, what happened?" Kick the door shut and go across to his side. "Al?"
Someone's punched him, that's plain enough. Doesn't look like he's damaged anywhere else - not that I can see - but he's pale and his eyesocket's swelling purple-red.
"It's done. I told her I'm leaving."
Go very still next to him. It's done. Holy fuck.
"And she..." Reach out and don't-quite-touch the injury. "I don't need to ask you how she took it, then. And you should get some ice on that."
Seven and a half hours: it feels like a world away. But the way his voice softens when he talks about it.... "I thought of it because of us both, I suppose. The language, for one thing. I know enough Spanish to get by, and I thought for you it might be familiar enough to have a sense of...home to it."
He's stroking my leg, light and reassuring. He thought about that, about me. I don't know why it still surprises me when he does that.
"And it would be more tolerant of our relationship than either of our homelands." Snort a bit at that, because fucked if I'm going anywhere near Iran, given our relationship. "I would - like to be able to touch you in public, if I wanted.""I..." It's a lot to think about. I'm so used to having to hide - us - that being able to be open about it.... "I don't know much about Spain," I offer. We'd be exiles together there, wouldn't we
( ... )
"I don't know much about Spain," he says hesitantly, and I smile.
"I'll buy you a guide book. I have some Spanish history," I say, gesturing vaguely toward my bookshelves. "I spent a couple of months over there years ago, and I have been back a few times since."
"It - we should be somewhere you can be - happy."
I kiss him, quite lightly.
"You would like Madrid, I think. What is it they say about the city? ¡Tiene mucha vida!" I smile. "I liked Andalucia best, however," I say. "The Sierra Nevada, snow capped even late into the spring, mountainsides brown leviathans. Cordoba, Granada... Cities that belonged to Allah when they were first great, not the Christ. The almost-familiar in the narrow twists of the streets in the Medina, the smell of shisha." I stroke his arm. "Yes," I say, "I think I could be happy there. But that does not mean anything to me if you would not be happy, too. That is the point of this whole venture, after all." I kiss him again, less lightly this time. "Did you have anywhere in mind yourself?"
He's speaking poetry again in his descriptions, and I try to imagine it. My fathers' ancestors' homeland, and so I suppose mine, somewhere back in my blood.
"But that does not mean anything to me if you would not be happy, too. That is the point of this whole venture, after all."
He kisses me, and I slide my hand into his hair. Love, love. "Did you have anywhere in mind yourself?"
"I never thought I'd live anywhere but the Americas," I say, pulling back only a very little. "But - fuck, Al, I'll give it a try." It's a strangely exhilaration idea, to go so far away. I remember what I said to him, one time, about going where no one knew me....
Never thought it would happen in such a way.
I kiss him again, bite his lower lip gently. Mountainsides brown leviathans.... "With you."
"I like it when you hurt me. I want you to mark me. Make it show, that I'm yours."
I shudder at his words, at the rough heat in his voice, and a great part of me wants to push him back into the sofa and fuck him. But I remember something. "On. Your. Knees." The sense memory of that strikes me hard in the gut and prick, the way I felt when he complied. So I draw back and stand up. My face smooths out, and I get my breathing under control.
"Get upstairs," I say, voice cold and hard, my top lip curling up into a sneer. I watch him obey, watch him crossing the room and climbing the stairs, and it is only when he disappears from sight that I follow.
"Take off your clothes," I say, voice still hard and controlled. I watch him strip down, and I am painfully hard. I let him see me take off my watch and roll up my shirtsleeves in precise folds, movements slow and deliberate. When he is naked I just look at him for a long moment, and then I take off my belt.
He pulls away from me and I look at him curiously. What...?
His face has changed, and I feel a cold stab in my gut. What's wrong? What did I say? I remember that expression, that icy sneer, from before I loved him.
"Get upstairs."
Thank fuck. One sort of tension relaxes, but another thrums tighter. Fuck. I'll kill anyone who tries, and his face still and cold.
I get up, not managing nonchalance. Look at him for a moment, decide I'd better not say anything, and head upstairs. Obediently, I suppose you'd call it.
Hear him come up after me. "Take off your clothes." The old voice in the back of my head says, Fuck you, Shairan. I shuck my clothes, kick them aside, and when I look up he's watching me, eyes giving nothing away. I feel exposed, more-than-naked, especially here in his room with the sky stretching out around us
( ... )
He looks a little afraid... and he is very, very hard. I won't let anyone hurt you, love, but I'm going to. You're fucking mine. My erection is pressing against my fly.
"Lie on your stomach on the bed," I say. "Now." I breathe in and out. "Put your hands above your head." I open the wardrobe and pull out a box from the bottom. I haven't taken these out in a long time. Inside is a pair of standard issue police cuffs. I approach the bed.
"I expect you know how these work," I say, dangling them in front of him. I slide the chain between the bars of the headboard and click the cuffs around his wrists. "I love you," I say, close to his ear. It sounds like a threat. "And I'm going to show you who you belong to."
Feel the metal snap hard around my wrists. Fight the urge to pull against them - these things're no joking matter. Do my tendons some real damage if I fight against them too much.
"I love you." I can feel his breath against my ear. "And I'm going to show you who you belong to."
Yes. Oh, love, yes. But when he moves away, and I can't see him even from the corner of my eye, I start to feel afraid again. Feels like he's taking forever to do whatever he's going to do.
He touches my face, and I resist the urge to turn my face into his hand, kiss his palm. I just lie here with a little half smile, because I can tell it is annoying the fuck out of him.
And turning him on, of course. That's my boy.
He straddles me, and the feel of his weight settling on me makes me breathe in sharply. Love.
"Come on, then, boy. Open up."
I roll my eyes up and grin at him, and then I drop my jaw open obediently. It is difficult with him pressed up against me like this to use my hands... And so I do not. I put my slack, obedient mouth against his prick, and I wait for him to make me swallow it.
You shit, Shairan. Smirking up at me like that... The feel of his mouth against my cock makes me shift on his check. Fuck.
Grip my cock and glare down at him, though I can feel the corner of my mouth trying to twitch. Slap it against his slack cheek, lightly; it leaves a smear of wetness. Then I lean forward, cup my other hand behind his head to hold him steady and push into his mouth.
Feel of his tongue against the underside makes my hips jerk, and I go deeper faster than I'd meant to, and then I can't stop myself, oh god, I can't, pushing right to the back of his throat. All I can think about right now is making him fucking take it.
He glares at me. There is something strangely endearing about that. And then he puts his hand behind my head and guides himself into my mouth. Being passive like this is relaxing, somehow... And then his hips jerk and he is pushing himself as far in as I can take him. It is lucky I have some experience in deep throating, or I would be gagging, and as it is I am stretched to the limit, throat rippling as I make myself accommodate him. Yes, love. I'll take everything you want to give.
I shift my hands and put them on the back of his thighs to steady both of us. There's nothing except this very narrow space, his thighs and cock and my head against the pillows, and I make a low long sound of desire as I begin to lick and suck.
Feel of this's almost like being drunk. My head's spinning a bit, and my body's not completely under my control. More like under his, somehow, in spite of our positions. The slide of his tongue against me, tight vibration of his throat as he moans around me...fuck. Fuck.
I'm moving, shifting restlessly. Trying to hold back from shoving too deep, from just grabbing his head and fucking his mouth til he chokes. It's sweet and torturous, and I'm taut with the effort of holding back. My hand tightens in his hair and I make a strangled sound of frustration, so close to the edge.
"Paint means there're going to be walls. Walls're good."
I snort at that, and then I laugh when he adds "Reckon there're things the whole of Spain doesn't need to see us do."
"Oh," I say, "and I thought you enjoyed the thrill of risking being caught." I think of the stall at the Grindhouse and grin, now the sting of that memory has been eased by what came after.
"I'm warning you now, by the way. I never put my socks in the laundry basket. Tend to leave the washing up to the next day. Don't often change my bedsheets...."
"I've seen your apartment," I point out. "No doubt I shall be driven to the brink of despair. You shall have to find ways to raise my spirits." I smirk at him. I sit back a little, rest my hand on his stomach. "You know," I say, more seriously, "when I leave, I won't be able to tell you beforehand. Plausible deniability." I don't want Tez to be tangled up in the various white collar crimes I will have to commit in order to start over. "And it may be a little time afterward before I can get in contact."
"You know, when I leave, I won't be able to tell you beforehand. Plausible deniability. And it may be a little time afterward before I can get in contact."
My stomach lurches. Every time I see him now, am I going to be wondering if it's the last time, if he's going to suddenly vanish?
Calm myself a bit; it's going to be a while. He has to find the house first, for one thing. "Okay," I say, though not happily. Know we have to get through this, to have everything else, but it's going to be hell. "Are you...is anyone else going to know? You said Lily, before...Danika?"
"Okay," he says, and I can tell he isn't pleased, but he doesn't argue. I know he understands it's the sensible thing to do, but I am glad to see he doesn't like the idea of it. "Are you...is anyone else going to know? You said Lily, before...Danika?"
I shake my head.
"No," I say. "I know you will think I am cruel, but I am not convinced that Danika would be able to fool the police, should they question her." Danika is a good actress in a limited sort of way - but we've both seen where the limits of that lie. I do not think I need to voice that. "After I am gone, you can tell her when you think it is the right time." I am sure he will thank me for that. Possibly with his middle finger. I sigh. "I do not like to do this," I say. "Leave without word. Fuck, Tez, I wish you could leave with me. It would do wonders for my peace of mind." I swing my leg off him, lie down next to him. "Interior design," I say dryly, "may be my only saviour in the attempt to stay rational in the time I'm there and you are here."
"After I am gone, you can tell her when you think it is the right time."
Oh, thanks a fucking bunch, Al. Danika, honey, you know your dead Uncle Al? The one I was fucking? Well, he's alive, we're in love, and I'm moving to Spain to be with him. Um. Sorry? Yeah, that'll go down well.
"I do not like to do this. Leave without word. Fuck, Tez, I wish you could leave with me. It would do wonders for my peace of mind."
"Fucking wish I could." Sigh a bit. Going to be a bad few months, until I'm there. For both of us - that remark about his peace of mind has me worrying.
Doesn't exactly reassure me when he climbs off me and adds, "Interior design may be my only saviour in the attempt to stay rational in the time I'm there and you are here."He says it like a joke, but - "You better fucking well stay rational," I growl. "If I get out there and find you've lost it, I'll fucking kick your ass." Relent a bit and put my arm round him: "And interior design, Al? Jesus
( ... )
Comments 88
I've been here for a few hours. I have lost track of time slightly. I go to the bathroom, and my legs shake as I go, as if I am recovering from some long illness. I look at my eye in the mirror. The skin has begun to darken around it, and by tomorrow I think it will be swollen shut.
I call Tez. As soon as he speaks, I say abruptly:
"Can you come to the apartment? I need you."
I hang up before I hear his reply, because I don't think I can bear to speak any more. Not yet.
I feel very tired, suddenly. I lie down on the sofa, and I think I must fall asleep, because the next thing I am aware of is the sound of a key turning in the door. I don't get up.
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Open the door half-expecting to find him bleeding to death or something. He's on the sofa, but he doesn't look up.
"Fuck, Al, what happened?" Kick the door shut and go across to his side. "Al?"
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"It's done," I say simply. "I told her I'm leaving."
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"It's done. I told her I'm leaving."
Go very still next to him. It's done. Holy fuck.
"And she..." Reach out and don't-quite-touch the injury. "I don't need to ask you how she took it, then. And you should get some ice on that."
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He's stroking my leg, light and reassuring. He thought about that, about me. I don't know why it still surprises me when he does that.
"And it would be more tolerant of our relationship than either of our homelands." Snort a bit at that, because fucked if I'm going anywhere near Iran, given our relationship. "I would - like to be able to touch you in public, if I wanted.""I..." It's a lot to think about. I'm so used to having to hide - us - that being able to be open about it.... "I don't know much about Spain," I offer. We'd be exiles together there, wouldn't we ( ... )
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"I'll buy you a guide book. I have some Spanish history," I say, gesturing vaguely toward my bookshelves. "I spent a couple of months over there years ago, and I have been back a few times since."
"It - we should be somewhere you can be - happy."
I kiss him, quite lightly.
"You would like Madrid, I think. What is it they say about the city? ¡Tiene mucha vida!" I smile. "I liked Andalucia best, however," I say. "The Sierra Nevada, snow capped even late into the spring, mountainsides brown leviathans. Cordoba, Granada... Cities that belonged to Allah when they were first great, not the Christ. The almost-familiar in the narrow twists of the streets in the Medina, the smell of shisha." I stroke his arm. "Yes," I say, "I think I could be happy there. But that does not mean anything to me if you would not be happy, too. That is the point of this whole venture, after all." I kiss him again, less lightly this time. "Did you have anywhere in mind yourself?"
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"But that does not mean anything to me if you would not be happy, too. That is the point of this whole venture, after all."
He kisses me, and I slide my hand into his hair. Love, love. "Did you have anywhere in mind yourself?"
"I never thought I'd live anywhere but the Americas," I say, pulling back only a very little. "But - fuck, Al, I'll give it a try." It's a strangely exhilaration idea, to go so far away. I remember what I said to him, one time, about going where no one knew me....
Never thought it would happen in such a way.
I kiss him again, bite his lower lip gently. Mountainsides brown leviathans.... "With you."
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I shudder at his words, at the rough heat in his voice, and a great part of me wants to push him back into the sofa and fuck him. But I remember something. "On. Your. Knees." The sense memory of that strikes me hard in the gut and prick, the way I felt when he complied. So I draw back and stand up. My face smooths out, and I get my breathing under control.
"Get upstairs," I say, voice cold and hard, my top lip curling up into a sneer. I watch him obey, watch him crossing the room and climbing the stairs, and it is only when he disappears from sight that I follow.
"Take off your clothes," I say, voice still hard and controlled. I watch him strip down, and I am painfully hard. I let him see me take off my watch and roll up my shirtsleeves in precise folds, movements slow and deliberate. When he is naked I just look at him for a long moment, and then I take off my belt.
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His face has changed, and I feel a cold stab in my gut. What's wrong? What did I say? I remember that expression, that icy sneer, from before I loved him.
"Get upstairs."
Thank fuck. One sort of tension relaxes, but another thrums tighter. Fuck. I'll kill anyone who tries, and his face still and cold.
I get up, not managing nonchalance. Look at him for a moment, decide I'd better not say anything, and head upstairs. Obediently, I suppose you'd call it.
Hear him come up after me. "Take off your clothes." The old voice in the back of my head says, Fuck you, Shairan. I shuck my clothes, kick them aside, and when I look up he's watching me, eyes giving nothing away. I feel exposed, more-than-naked, especially here in his room with the sky stretching out around us ( ... )
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"Lie on your stomach on the bed," I say. "Now." I breathe in and out. "Put your hands above your head." I open the wardrobe and pull out a box from the bottom. I haven't taken these out in a long time. Inside is a pair of standard issue police cuffs. I approach the bed.
"I expect you know how these work," I say, dangling them in front of him. I slide the chain between the bars of the headboard and click the cuffs around his wrists. "I love you," I say, close to his ear. It sounds like a threat. "And I'm going to show you who you belong to."
I move back down the bed, and I pick up the belt.
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"I love you." I can feel his breath against my ear. "And I'm going to show you who you belong to."
Yes. Oh, love, yes. But when he moves away, and I can't see him even from the corner of my eye, I start to feel afraid again. Feels like he's taking forever to do whatever he's going to do.
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And turning him on, of course. That's my boy.
He straddles me, and the feel of his weight settling on me makes me breathe in sharply. Love.
"Come on, then, boy. Open up."
I roll my eyes up and grin at him, and then I drop my jaw open obediently. It is difficult with him pressed up against me like this to use my hands... And so I do not. I put my slack, obedient mouth against his prick, and I wait for him to make me swallow it.
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Grip my cock and glare down at him, though I can feel the corner of my mouth trying to twitch. Slap it against his slack cheek, lightly; it leaves a smear of wetness. Then I lean forward, cup my other hand behind his head to hold him steady and push into his mouth.
Feel of his tongue against the underside makes my hips jerk, and I go deeper faster than I'd meant to, and then I can't stop myself, oh god, I can't, pushing right to the back of his throat. All I can think about right now is making him fucking take it.
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I shift my hands and put them on the back of his thighs to steady both of us. There's nothing except this very narrow space, his thighs and cock and my head against the pillows, and I make a low long sound of desire as I begin to lick and suck.
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I'm moving, shifting restlessly. Trying to hold back from shoving too deep, from just grabbing his head and fucking his mouth til he chokes. It's sweet and torturous, and I'm taut with the effort of holding back. My hand tightens in his hair and I make a strangled sound of frustration, so close to the edge.
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I snort at that, and then I laugh when he adds "Reckon there're things the whole of Spain doesn't need to see us do."
"Oh," I say, "and I thought you enjoyed the thrill of risking being caught." I think of the stall at the Grindhouse and grin, now the sting of that memory has been eased by what came after.
"I'm warning you now, by the way. I never put my socks in the laundry basket. Tend to leave the washing up to the next day. Don't often change my bedsheets...."
"I've seen your apartment," I point out. "No doubt I shall be driven to the brink of despair. You shall have to find ways to raise my spirits." I smirk at him. I sit back a little, rest my hand on his stomach. "You know," I say, more seriously, "when I leave, I won't be able to tell you beforehand. Plausible deniability." I don't want Tez to be tangled up in the various white collar crimes I will have to commit in order to start over. "And it may be a little time afterward before I can get in contact."
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My stomach lurches. Every time I see him now, am I going to be wondering if it's the last time, if he's going to suddenly vanish?
Calm myself a bit; it's going to be a while. He has to find the house first, for one thing. "Okay," I say, though not happily. Know we have to get through this, to have everything else, but it's going to be hell. "Are you...is anyone else going to know? You said Lily, before...Danika?"
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I shake my head.
"No," I say. "I know you will think I am cruel, but I am not convinced that Danika would be able to fool the police, should they question her." Danika is a good actress in a limited sort of way - but we've both seen where the limits of that lie. I do not think I need to voice that. "After I am gone, you can tell her when you think it is the right time." I am sure he will thank me for that. Possibly with his middle finger. I sigh. "I do not like to do this," I say. "Leave without word. Fuck, Tez, I wish you could leave with me. It would do wonders for my peace of mind." I swing my leg off him, lie down next to him. "Interior design," I say dryly, "may be my only saviour in the attempt to stay rational in the time I'm there and you are here."
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Oh, thanks a fucking bunch, Al. Danika, honey, you know your dead Uncle Al? The one I was fucking? Well, he's alive, we're in love, and I'm moving to Spain to be with him. Um. Sorry? Yeah, that'll go down well.
"I do not like to do this. Leave without word. Fuck, Tez, I wish you could leave with me. It would do wonders for my peace of mind."
"Fucking wish I could." Sigh a bit. Going to be a bad few months, until I'm there. For both of us - that remark about his peace of mind has me worrying.
Doesn't exactly reassure me when he climbs off me and adds, "Interior design may be my only saviour in the attempt to stay rational in the time I'm there and you are here."He says it like a joke, but - "You better fucking well stay rational," I growl. "If I get out there and find you've lost it, I'll fucking kick your ass." Relent a bit and put my arm round him: "And interior design, Al? Jesus ( ... )
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