"Full Circle" (2/3) -- SLASH ================ (disclaimers in 1/3) Lovely boy. I wanted to purr. "I'm not sure if it's worth the trouble. You seem to be quite a handful." "Depending on the circumstances, that can be a positive attribute." You don't say. "I've never seen that." His pale eyes gave the impression of sun through ice. "I could demonstrate." "I suggest you do so." "Here? Now? I could, you know. You'd enjoy it for the brief time it would take for someone to notice and get us thrown out." "Then we'll take it elsewhere once we settle with our lovely and attentive waitress." I signaled her. Turlough finished the last onion ring and washed it down with my beer. Then laughed. "My mouth will be appalling." "It already was." "Flatterer." "Never. Jelly baby?" I asked. He raised an eyebrow but took a few from my bag. To further tease him, I continued, "I said 'jelly *baby*.' One. Singular." "But you offered me the bag. Consider yourself fortunate I didn't take them all." "You're a glutton." "Now, now. You don't want to make such snap decisions, judging me on only one situation. You should first observe my behavior in many different circumstances." He popped a jelly baby in his mouth and appeared to savor it. "Is that an offer?" "Have I said anything in the last few minutes that *wasn't* an offer?" I grinned. "I really can't be certain. I'm--" "--ancient." "--an innocent, thank you very much." "An ancient innocent? That's just sad." Another jelly baby went in. "I realize that almost everyone seems ancient to a child like yourself--" "You started it." "That was mature." "You've already given me candy. Will you dandle me on your knee next?" "I'll take you over my knee." "Promises." Where was that waitress? "No, that was a threat." "Same thing," he drawled in a darkly perfect tone of drawing room menace, dripping with breeding. The dear girl finally appeared and started to ask if we wanted anything else, but I shut her down and asked her what the damages were. If I didn't get Turlough out of here soon, I would do something inadvisable. While doing inadvisable things in public never failed to be fun, it often led to complications and obstacles later on. Thus, this time I would much prefer to take my inadvisable self, my inadvisable partner, and all the inadvisable things I planned to do to him private. Meanwhile, Turlough sucked on a bit of ice from the glass of water he'd neglected through the whole meal. Somehow, even with his mouth closed, he managed to give me the impression that he was perpetrating obscene acts on that ice with his tongue. Oh, how I will make him suffer. But it had been a while since someone had gone to such effort to seduce me. I could take teasing as well as I could deal it out. I could let him pursue me 'til I caught him. Not that I intended to make much effort to elude him. I left a handsome tip as I paid, then grabbed my coat. Turlough reached my exceedingly long, striped scarf first and wrapped it around his neck a few times. As he walked beside me on the sidewalk, so close I could touch him, he petted it, then wrapped one end around one thin wrist. With everything else he'd already said and done that sight shouldn't have had such power over me. Oh well. Ravening lust would simply better focus my attention on getting us someplace private. "Why is this thing so long?" he asked as he petted. "It has uses. Warmth, for one. Also, I can trip my enemies with it." "And yourself." "I'm much smarter than that." I cast him a sidelong look. "I can bind people with it." He walked closer still. "It no doubt adds that necessary touch of whimsy to the game. Where are we going?" "I have a place a few blocks away." "An alley would do." Oh my. He sounded serious. I smiled. "I too find patience to be overrated as a virtue, but... Dangerous old strangers, sex in alleys... Whatever are you punishing yourself for?" "I'll tell you a little secret about punishment: It's only punishment if you don't like it." "But I'm not finding any decent alleys here." "A shame." Indeed. As I led him up the stoop to my building, he said, "This seems surprisingly permanent for you." "And you know me so well already." I took the keys out of my vest pocket and let us in. "I believe so." He looked adorable with my scarf looped around his neck a few times. Its bright stripes added a splash of color to his sober uniform, though it couldn't outstrip his blazing hair. "I believe in having boltholes in my favorite places. I have an apartment here that I let a string of artists live in while I'm not in town. Those few times I show up, they vacate for a while." "Why would anyone agree to that?" "It's rent-controlled. In New York City, that's magic. Getting to live in the Village for only $500 a month in this time tends to overcome any objections that they might have." "Means nothing to me." "Or so you might think. What it *does* mean to you is that we don't need an alley." "That's a kind of magic I can like." The brat kept fondling me from behind on the stairs. Every time I turned to look, his hands were in full view, innocent, and he had a bland look on his face. I intended to even the score in good time. Three torturous flights later, I opened the apartment door and inhaled a rich melange of oil paint and thinner. Amazing how pleasant associations could render even nasty, nearly caustic smells wonderful. The current artist in residence kept the place cheerfully cluttered with paint pots, scatters of pencils and brushes, easels, canvases, drop cloths, sketches, models, and a variety of more ordinary items. Homey. As I hung up my coat, Turlough took a moment to look at the sunset colors of a painting in progress before sweeping his gaze across the small apartment. Somehow he gave me the impression that he marked every door and window into his memory, especially possible exits. I pulled him against me and put my arms around his waist. "Do you want anything?" I whispered into his ear. "It's a long list. How much time do you have?" "I'm asking as your host." Turlough turned to face me. "As your guest, I've already told you what I want. Lucky us, you seem to want it too." Pressed to me like this, he felt like a creature made entirely of bone, though I could also make out surprising long, lean muscles under the camouflaging clothing. Still attached to me, he stepped back until I had him pushed up hard against a wall, our bodies so close that the only way we could get closer would be if we broke that rule about two physical forms being unable to occupy the same space at once. Which I've done, thank you, but not without help. Turlough's every move screamed of wanting a bit of rough, so I pressed harder and nipped his ear as my hands possessively roamed down his back. Down, down, then *clutch*.... He surged against me and pulled at my clothing in response. "Now, *please*," he gasped, his eyes dilated to black holes by lust. "Take me." He'd wanted an alley. It seemed a wall would be a good enough substitute. I understood needing it now. We could achieve art later. At least my fingers retained their competence as my head went on vacation, reciprocating the half strip Turlough did to me. He did not start on my vest or shirt, nor did he allow me to remove his jacket, my scarf, his tie, and his shirt. Instead, eyes intent and almost mindless, he grabbed my hand and started to fellate my fingers. Lost under the sensual onslaught, the warmth of a talented tongue and the scraping touch of nearly sharp teeth, I took an appallingly long time to understand why he did it. Then it hit me in all its bright colors, and I became ever harder, aching for him even more. He let my fingers fall from his mouth with one last, teasing swipe of his tongue, then turned to face the wall, offering himself to me so prettily that some dark part of me wanted to thrust home right then. I couldn't help feeling that he'd enjoy that too, yet I kept hold of some self-control. I'd promised myself I would repay him for the fondling on the stairs. This might do it, even if it would torture me as well. I put my arm around his neck, pressed myself to him, then circled the puckered entrance with a single finger. I didn't slide it in until he was shivering convulsively in my grip, begging with his whole body. Writhing gracefully, he pushed back, trying to take it in sooner, deeper, but I took advantage of my scarf wound around his neck to hold him in place, even tightening it like a large, woolen garotte occasionally. He gasped his thanks in another, harsher language, his English having failed him. Dripping for him, inflamed beyond thought by his display, I couldn't hold back any longer. When I thrust in deeply, as far as I could go, I could feel his moan reverberate through his whole body. "*Take* me," Turlough gasped, but it sounded like a command instead of a plea. I rode him hard, but he rode me back. With how thin he was, I'd feared that he might break or shatter with rough handling, but he proved to be as resilient and flexible as wire. I might break before he did. I couldn't stop the thought that we fit, as if he were a glove specifically designed for me. Instead of touching himself, Turlough kept his hands up to brace us against the wall. Seeing an injustice, I moved to fix it by stroking his cock with the hand I didn't already have occupied with keeping hold of my scarf and thus his neck. I inadvertently tightened the scarf on his neck as I did so. He achieved orgasm with a choked shout and a shudder that ran through his whole body, taking me with him. I came to with my face buried in my soft scarf, leaning against Turlough as he leaned hard against the wall. My scarf smelled of me and of his sharp sweat. Flushed, utterly mussed, eyes closed, he looked exultant as he caught his breath. Debauched schoolboy, graceful and in control even with his pants around his ankles. I felt smug utterly beyond my usual. The edge had been taken off my lust, but I could feel the low hum of it still as it caught its breath and regained its energy. It seemed I wasn't so old after all. Once I disengaged, he slid down to sit on the floor. I kicked my boots and pants off, then walked half-naked to the refrigerator. "Juice?" I asked. Turlough laughed. "Oh, this is so usual for you then? And yes, thank you." By the time I reached him, he had his own shoes, socks, and pants off and had arranged his shirttails to provide a semblance of modesty. Smirking, he clinked his glass against mine before taking a deep swallow. "Not every day. You're making me feel guilty watching you sit on the hardwood floor--" "Guilt? You?" "--so I suggest we move this discussion to the bedroom. I must be a good host" "Then, like a good guest, I accept your invitation." His smile in reaction to the bedroom pleased me. Of course, the lavish bed that took up almost all of the tiny room belonged to the apartment's present occupant, but she belonged to the apartment, which belonged to me, so.... A carved and highly polished cherrywood headboard rose above a mass of crisp white linen and a deep red down comforter. Turlough unwound my scarf from his neck and tossed it to the headboard, where it slithered to a stop around one of the bedposts. I actually hated to see it leave him. His tie followed it. He didn't take off the jacket and shirt until he was under the covers. It tickled me to think he might be shy or self-conscious. He stretched luxuriantly, yawned extravagantly, then snuggled under the covers and bid me good night. "You must be joking," I said. Only glinting eyes, ice green now, and a blaze of hair appeared above the comforter. "Yes," he answered. I stripped down and joined him. When I touched his left arm, I felt a raised pattern on it I couldn't help stroking with my thumb. He shuddered. "Did I wear you out?" I asked. "Young things these days have no staying power." "I'm sure it does you good to have such a high regard of yourself." I traced the mark on his arm with my tongue and felt triangles. The smooth skin of the pattern suggested an old brand, making me think that perhaps my guttersnipe had a hellion past. He writhed. "Undeserved?" He answered by flipping me onto my back, using my scarf to secure my wrists to the bedposts, then attacking my neck with nibbling kisses. The night was young. ****************************************************** To my disappointment, I woke up in bed alone. I'd hoped to see what Turlough looked like when he slept, if he lost that wary look at all. I'd imagined him as only a blaze of hair ruining his camouflage against white linen sheets.... Such is life. I'd be lucky if he hadn't slipped out of the apartment while I was sleeping. I was lucky. He stood in the next room and looked meticulously groomed, with every line of his uniform straight, every hair in place, almost military. It worried me. I needed to muss and rumple him again. His attention seemed to be completely taken up by the painting he looked at, to the point that the mug in his hand seemed to be forgotten. I smirked at the scent of tea. The lad did protest so much. I could tell by the way something in his posture changed that he knew I stood behind him, so I just asked, "How could you possibly get out of bed so early?" From his meticulous appearance, I expected cold, distant precision, but he retained the night's mischievous spark. "Brainwashing," he said with a smile, "pure and simple." I should know better than to simplify and assume; actual people seldom worked on A plus B always equals C. Why couldn't he be particular about his look and still be an impish troublemaker? I should applaud him for refusing to conform to stereotype. In fact, imagining that oh-so proper uniform falling in a perfect line over, say, that old brand of two slightly overlapping triangles, gotten perhaps in a wilder youth, he had on his left forearm did things for my lust. Just because I dressed in a manner I felt reflected my inner self didn't mean that others couldn't use it to misdirect or wrongfully calm others. In my own way, I was as fastidious in my own appearance, but in the opposite direction. But I was lying to myself. Dressing like an innocuous, eccentric, absent professor only expressed one part of myself, the harmless part. It let me slip in and start meddling before anyone realized it, made life easier. I'd designed my appearance to mislead, and I never felt sorry about it. Didn't mean I couldn't complain about Turlough confounding my expectations even as I loved him for it. "School?" A shadow crossed his face. "Among other places." He took another sip of tea, then set it down. "I have to go, you know." Which meant he wanted me to make him to stay. "And why is that?" "I have companions to catch up with. They're probably neck deep in an invasion or some megalomaniac's plans as we speak." "The better that you're here instead of with them. I thought a vacation meant avoiding life-threatening danger." "There's that." "But you feel they need you." "Maybe. Silly, isn't it?" "Not at all. He chose to let you come along with him for a reason." He wore that sharp grin again. "Few people could say that like they mean it." "I succeeded, I trust." "Spectacularly." He sighed. "I suppose I could take a few more hours. He always manages to find me when he needs me." "There's my boy." I gave in and ruffled his hair, which earned me the nearly feline look of disgust I'd expected. How dare I force him to groom himself all over again? The mental image of him licking himself back into order had to be worth the price of admission. Before he could make any move to realign his hair, I put my arms around his waist, unbuttoned his blazer jacket, and pulled the tails of his shirt from his pants. Never do anything halfway. He smelled of the shampoo and soap the apartment's current occupant, and thus I, used. His clothing still smelled of last night's play. As I pressed him to me, I grinned as he half molded to me and half fought. Luxurious, the feel of him slithering against me, especially as his movement made the silk of my robe caress my skin as well. I wanted him badly, but I doubted his morning fastidiousness would allow for a romp and roll through paint-stained drop cloths, so I had to get him back to the bedroom. "It's too early. Come back to bed," I purred into his ear. He'd gypped me of the chance to catch him sleeping the first time, so I intended to get another. "What for? I'm awake." It came out half hiss of sullen displeasure and half throaty tease. My guttersnipe did eschew being too easy to label. I appreciated that. (to be continued) --------------------------- ONElist Sponsor ---------------------------- Get great offers on top-notch products that match your interests! Sign up for eLerts at: Click Here ------------------------------------------------------------------------