He started coming in about six months ago.
I remember the place being busy the first night he sat down at the bar. Then again, Friday nights always are. But I specifically recall him edging around the crowd, coming closer and closer, before finally pulling up a stool at the far end of the bar. I don't know why he stood out from all the rest and garnered my attention. Maybe because he looked different; it's not often one sees a man with such long hair, especially not one dressed in such a nice suit. Or maybe because he seemed so tired, unhappy, while everyone else around him danced and caroused so enthusiastically. Either way, he'd piqued my interest, and somehow, he managed to keep it.
I carded him the first time he ordered a drink. He looked like a teenager at first, small build, heart-shaped face framed by long bangs, wide mouth. But when he looked up after handing me his license, I saw the age in his eyes. They held too much knowledge and experience for the twenty-four years that his identification told me he'd lived. Their strange, purple-tinted depths contained cynicism and distrust, but even more so, they were faded with weariness, no sparkle to light them up.
It was like looking into a mirror.
And it was thus that our relationship began, with a meaningful glance into his soul and a drink. He ordered a whiskey sour; he always ordered that when he first came in. He always arrived around eight o'clock, never on any other night but Friday, always dressed in a dark, well-tailored suit, tie loosened and the top two buttons of his shirt undone. I assume he came straight to the bar after work, but I can't be sure. I never asked. But he always arrived looking overly burdened by something, and he usually left around one in the morning being at least three sheets to the wind. I don't usually keep serving once a patron has reached his limit, but for him, I made an exception. I got the feeling he needed it.
He always sat at the end of the bar farthest from the door. I don't know why he chose that spot, maybe because that end was less crowded, or maybe because it was closer to the television. He didn't generally talk to the other patrons unless they spoke to him first, and even then he didn't talk for long. He just preferred to deal with his troubles with his drinks rather than with conversation.
We developed a weird kind of friendship as the weeks went by, which was unusual for me. I never made any effort to become familiar with the other customers, but I came to expect his presence, and he always showed up, as if he felt obligated. I came to learn his usual order of drinks: two whiskey sours, a water, two rum and cokes, another water, three gin and tonics, and however many beers it took to get him trashed.
He was my only regular customer. His name is Duo, but I always called him Mr. Maxwell, just to keep things professional between us, just like I do with all the other customers.
For some reason, professionalism didn't exactly work.
I felt the "shift" around three months ago. He'd asked for a beer, so I'd put the mug down in front of him and was just about to pour when he touched his fingers gently to my hand to stop me, the simple gesture inexplicably sending a shock like lightning coursing through my body.
"In the bottle's fine, thanks," he said softly, righting the vessel and removing it from my grasp. Taking a sip, he added, "Sometimes I like it better like this."
Giving him a curt nod, I added the drink to his tab, my hand still tingling from where his fingers had been. Our bodies had never made contact before, since I made it a point to avoid such things with all customers, but this slip-up left me reeling and distantly wanting to do it again.
Once I came back to my senses, I mentally shook myself, ashamed at my thoughts. 'You're not some silly schoolgirl, Heero. Get back to work.'
I busied myself with the other patrons and kept mostly to the other end of the bar that night, trying to forget the feeling of his skin against mine. I don't think he had the same reaction to our brief touch, but it seemed that every time I looked in his direction, our eyes locked, if only for a fraction of a second, and every time, an odd warmth rushed over me.
I was relieved when he left, earlier than usual.
The next incident occurred a few weeks later. He never spoke to me much, outside of ordering drinks. Occasionally he'd bring up the weather or the local sports scene, but that was the extent of our conversation. But that night, he was chattier than usual, discussing politics over a gin and tonic.
"...And now they want to give us a tax break, probably to make the rest of us forget how bad we're being fucked by the upper one percent..." He tossed back the remains of his drink and set the glass down, shaking his head. "Goddamn politicians..."
I poured him another and wiped the bar down with a towel. "They do tend to be lying, conniving bastards, don't they?" I asked, my tone light.
He nodded readily in agreement, then flashed me a grin, the first ever indication that his face could express any kind of emotion other than indifference. For a moment, it looked like his smile almost met his eyes. "Sounds like you're my kind of guy, Heero. Nice to know that somebody sees things my way."
That strange heat passed over me once again at his smile. I couldn't help but return his grin; it seemed to be contagious. "I'm sure you have more allies than me, Mr. Maxwell. Besides, I'm just the bartender."
"Ah, but a good one," he replied, nursing his drink. Then he turned those mysterious eyes on me, assessing. "You know," he continued, his voice so low it sounded like he was talking to himself, "you look nice when you smile. You should do it more often."
I stared at him a moment, then answered, unthinkingly, "Same to you."
I don't think he expected that. His eyes widened a bit and he gave me a strange look. Then, he laughed, a warm, rich sound that pleased my ears. After settling down, he said, "I think I'm beginning to like you, bartender."
His words made my stomach flutter a bit, and I scolded myself for having such childish reactions to mere words, especially those of a man that I hardly knew. But my reprimands did nothing to prevent the butterflies from returning each time he looked my way that night.
The next sign that our relationship was moving beyond professional came along around a month and a half ago. He and I had been talking - actually, he talked and I just commented from time to time - about nothing in particular, when someone politely interrupted our conversation.
"Excuse me," she spoke to him, her large blue eyes sparkling, "would you like to dance?"
He looked back at me and shrugged, almost apologetically, and turned back to the petite young woman with blue-black hair.
He let her lead him out to the dance floor, casting a glance over his shoulder, perhaps to see if I was watching. I was.
They danced through several songs, more slow than fast, and the longer he remained on the dance floor, the more jealous I became. Though it angered me to see the girl draped over him, I could not tear my eyes away from his body as he moved, so smooth and so graceful, like he was bred for it. I found myself riveted to the movement of his hips as they rolled against his those of his lucky dance partner, and I soon felt a burning arousal growing along with my anger. I tried to put my feelings aside and I resumed serving the other thirsty customers at the bar, but I couldn't help but glance up from time-to-time to get another glimpse of him.
When I finally saw him make a movement towards the bar, I secretly heaved a sigh of relief that my torment would soon be over. Unfortunately, my relief did not last for long, as he only stayed at the bar long enough to throw down enough money to pay his bill and a sizable tip, before hurrying out the door, young woman in tow.
I didn't sleep well that night, knowing that somewhere in the city, another person was sharing his bed. The thought did not sit well with me. When I finally managed to drift off, I dreamt of him. Him at the bar, laughing and smiling as he nursed his drinks. Him on the dance floor, moving elegantly and hypnotically to the rhythm of the music. Him writhing underneath me, screaming my name in pleasure as I pounded into his pliant body. It was then that I realized how much trouble I had gotten myself into.
I almost called in sick that next Friday night. I was anxious, Even nervous about seeing him, and I dreaded the thought of seeing *her* with him again. I didn't even know the girl, but I was already harboring an intense dislike for her. In the end, however, the need to see him won out over any reservations I may have had, and I went in to work, anticipating his arrival like a housewife awaiting the return of her husband. I was pathetic, even in my own eyes.
He kept me waiting nearly an hour, finally coming through the doors at nine o'clock, but thankfully, he was alone. I let out the breath I didn't realize I'd been holding and tried to keep from grinning as he made his way through the crowd to take his usual seat.
He plopped down onto the seat and removed his blazer, draping it over the seat beside him. He rolled up his shirtsleeves and slammed his hands flat against the bar's polished wooden surface.
"Double shot of tequila. Now," he demanded, his voice tight.
I gave him a curious glance but poured the drink nonetheless, assuming that if he wanted to tell me, he would on his own time.
He downed the drink as quickly as I set it down in front of him. "Again," he said, his tone not as strained as before. After tossing back the next, he propped his elbows on the bar and buried his face in his hands. "This has been the worst fucking week of my entire fucking life," he groaned into his hands, the words somewhat muffled.
"Really?" I asked, pushing another double-shot glass in front of him. I wanted to tell him that I hadn't been having the best week myself. 'And it's all your fault...' Not wanting to cause myself any more problems, I refrained from commenting, and listened to him as he continued.
"For starters," he began, tipping back the first half, "that girl I took home last week, Hilde or something, has been calling me nonstop ever since. I mean, I don't usually go for the whole 'one-night stand' thing, but I just really needed a fuck last Friday--"
'Amen to that,' I thought.
"--And I told her that. I didn't want to lead her on, letting her think it would be more. But I guess she did, so I finally had to tell her to leave me the hell alone, and then she started crying, and it was just awful." He finished off the last half. "And work has been absolute hell, I mean, even worse than usual..." With a weary smile, he looked up at me and clasped my hand in his, saying, "You don't know how glad I am to see you, Heero. I've been looking forward to this since I left last week."
My heart skipped a beat. A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth as I relished the feel of his hands holding mine, the softness of his skin, the nearness of him. "I'm glad you feel that way," I answered him, once I was sure my voice wouldn't fail me. "You're always welcome here, Du-Mr. Maxwell."
He broke eye contact with me then, his smile turned somewhat rueful in its appearance. "Thanks..." he replied, his voice trailing off, and he released my hand. Something heavy hung in the air between us at that moment, and it was obvious to both of us, but neither of us acknowledged its presence.
"Would you like something else?" I asked, falling back into my role. It was much easier to deal with him as a customer than as anything more.
"Yeah," he said softly, "give me the rest of that bottle."
By the end of the night, we hadn't spoken any more than necessary and he had finished two bottles of tequila. He passed out on the bar shortly thereafter, and was still unconscious by closing time. I told the manager that I would make sure he made it home safely, and so my boss left him in my keeping.
Oh, temptation, how you mock me.
I walked around to the other side of the bar, seeing him for the first time without the wooden surface between us. He was slumped over in his seat, head pillowed on his forearms as though he'd meant to pass out. The end of his long braid rested between the curves of his pert bottom, and my fingers twitched to touch both.
I moved closer to him and gave his shoulders a shake, attempting to rouse him. When that failed, I shook harder and pulled his upper body off the bar and into an upright position, making his head wobble back and forth, but still not waking him up. Briefly I wondered if he was dead, and a feeling of panic gripped my chest, but my fears were relieved when his mouth opened wide in a jaw-popping yawn. He stretched his arms high over his head and arched his back, the motion bringing to mind similar images from my week's worth of dreams, but those were in an entirely different context. His groggy voice brought me out of my thoughts.
"Where am I?" He blinked owlishly at me, trying to clear his blurry vision. "Heero? Is that you?"
Trying not to think of how adorably confused he was, I draped one of his arms around my shoulders and helped him to his feet. He wasn't much shorter than myself from this angle. "Yes, Mr. Maxwell, it's me. You passed out at the bar, and I'm going to make sure you get home."
His head lolled to the side, hitting my chin. "What's all this 'Mr. Maxwell' shit? Call me Duo, goddammit. That's my name."
"Alright then, no more Mr. Maxwell." We took one wobbly step, then another, before he - Duo - started slipping toward the floor. Quickly, I wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled his body to mine, realizing too late that his closeness had already affected some regions of my anatomy.
His eyes widened comically - I would have laughed if I hadn't been so embarrassed - when he felt my erection digging into his thigh. "Heero?"
"I - it's not what you think, Duo," I stammered, my face red. "I'm sorry! I--"
Duo silenced me with a finger pressed to my lips. "Shhhh! S'okay," he whispered secretively, hiding his eyes in the crook of my neck, "I'd be sportin' some too if I wasn't *hiccup* soooooo drunk. But I am." He lifted his head to look me in the eyes, nodding as if for confirmation. "I'm really, really, really drunk. Very wasted." He grinned and pressed his forehead against mine. "You shouldn't've let me drink so much, 'eero. This is all *your* fault. Not mine, no no no. Yours." His head lolled backwards, exposing his throat. "All yours. I'm all yours, 'eero."
Sighing, I tried not to let his drunken ramblings get to me, repeatedly reminding myself that they were just that and that Duo didn't really mean them, but the way he kept shifting in such an unintentionally wanton way against my body did nothing to diminish the heat that flared in my groin. It was all I could do not to thrust my hips against him.
"Just be quiet, and concentrate so we can get out to my car," I told him, my voice slightly unsteady as he rubbed against me. "Then I can take you home."
He nodded in acquiescence and, with quite a bit of effort, we managed to get across the room unscathed. I backed out the door with him still in my arms, but I had to get the doors closed before we could go anywhere else. Using my left arm to keep Duo upright, I dug in my pocket for the keys with the other, finally extricating them from my pants and locking the door.
Hearing a light snore, I looked down at Duo to see him resting his head on my shoulder, fast asleep. Deciding it was easier to just pick him up and carry his body rather than drag him along, I stooped over and hooked my right arm under his knees, hefting him up and holding him against my chest. He didn't make for a light load, but I managed, hauling him the few hundred feet to where my car was parked.
I tried not to wake him as I set him into the passenger seat, but his amethyst eyes fluttered open when I was still leaning over him. Duo lifted a slender hand and pressed it against my chest, sliding it up to bury itself in my hair, his long fingers caressing my scalp.
"Kiss me, 'eero," he sighed, pulling my head down to meet his. "Please..."
Even though I knew he was drunk and he no idea what he was saying at the time, I couldn't resist having a taste of the mouth that I'd wanted for too long. I closed the distance between us and pressed my lips to his, feeling him sigh against my mouth.
Cupping one flushed cheek in my hand, I tilted Duo's head back and trailed the tip of my tongue along his upper lip. He moaned and parted his lips readily, allowing me access into the warm recesses of his mouth. He tasted like... tequila and something a little sweeter. His questing tongue soon found mine, and the warring muscles thrust against each other, mimicking an action that our bodies were yearning for. He reached up with his free hand and grabbed my shoulder, trying to pull my body closer to his, but I removed his hand, not wanting to end up having sex with a drunken Duo in my beat up old car. It was neither the time nor the place for that.
With much reluctance, I pulled away, gazing down into his bright, unfocused eyes. "You're drunk, Duo. And you need to go home. Tell me where you live, and I'll drive you there, okay?"
He didn't look happy, but he nodded anyway. "1200 Wilshire Avenue, Apartment 201."
"Thank you," I told him with a smile, and shut the passenger side door.
Duo was asleep by the time I got around to my side of the car, and for that I was grateful. I didn't know if I could drive the car with him being awake. 'He'd probably try to crawl over into my lap and then I'd end up driving head-on into a telephone pole.'
Fortunately, I knew the way to Duo's apartment building. The Wilshire complex was one of the newer high-rises in town, catering to those with big budgets and expensive tastes. I wasn't sure what his line of work was, but he had to be bringing home some serious money to afford a place like that. Much more than bartending earned me, obviously.
By the time I pulled up to the doors of his building, I had calmed my body enough to not embarrass myself in public. I parked the car and got out, motioning for the doorman to come to my assistance.
"Excuse me, sir," I asked when he reached the car, "my friend here is a resident of this building. He had a little too much fun tonight, and I think he'll need some help getting to his apartment." I would have taken him up myself, but I didn't trust my brain to override my hormones if he woke up again.
The doorman seemed to understand my dilemma and graciously took my burden from me. "Oh, yes, I know Mr. Maxwell. Very nice young man. I'll make sure he gets up to his apartment without delay."
I pulled Duo out of the car, glad that he didn't wake up this time, and left him in the care of his doorman. I watched the other man carry Duo's dead weight into the building and into the elevator vestibule. Only when they were out of sight did I get back into my vehicle and leave.
Once I was inside my own apartment, I sagged against the door, memories of all of the night's events flooding back. My hand stole to the reawakened bulge in my pants, and a gasp in the form of Duo's name sprang forth from my lips.
I called his name at least a hundred times that night, but no matter how much I tried, I could not force my desire for him to lessen. There was only one cure for my disease.
I wasn't really sure what to expect the next week. Would he remember? If so, would he be ashamed, or would he want more? If he didn't, was that one night all I'd ever have with him? There were too many questions floating around in my mind, I could barely think straight, and that feeling increased tenfold when I saw him next.
He arrived at his usual time, eight o'clock, but it seemed like everything else was different. He was dressed casually for the first time, wearing a black oxford shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the top three buttons undone, giving me a better view of his smooth chest than I had been afforded with his dress shirts. In place of the tailored trousers I had seen him in before he wore a pair of well-worn jeans, snug in all the right places. His hair was loosely braided, and the overall effect made him look softer, not quite as focused, like I was looking at him through a haze.
Sitting in his usual spot, he waited for me to serve the other customers before signaling to me. My heart thundered in my chest as I walked over to him, unsure of what might pass between us in the next few moments.
I leaned forward a bit when I came to him, trying to keep my anxiety out of my voice. "The usual, Mr. Maxwell?" I asked, hoping that he'd just order his whiskey sour and the world would fall back into place.
As would be expected, he decided to keep me unbalanced. Shaking his head, he declined my offer. "No thanks. Just water." Then he looked me dead in the eye, making my breath catch in my throat, adding, "I need to keep a clear head tonight."
"One water, coming up," I said shakily, turning to get his order. I couldn't get the look in his eyes out of my mind; it was a smoldering, penetrating stare that went straight through me, like he knew exactly what I was thinking.
Finally managing to school my features into a neutral expression, I faced him again, but this time, his eyes didn't immediately lock with mine. Instead, he trailed his gaze up from my hips, lazily making his way up to my face, his expression appraising. My cheeks burned and I had to keep a tight rein on my body to keep it from reacting. His drink almost slipped from my grasp, but I was able to keep it from spilling, and I set it down in front of him.
"Anything else?" I questioned, trying not to notice the sultry smirk on his face.
"I'll let you know," he answered cryptically, picking up his glass and taking a long sip. I couldn't help but watch him swallow, and as he licked his lips, an obscene image flashed in front of my eyes. I barely suppressed a moan. He chuckled, setting his drink down. "Relax, Heero. The night is young..."
It was the start to one of the longest nights of my life.
It was obvious that he was going to stay until closing, apparently in an effort to get me alone. The bar gradually cleared out until he alone remained as my last customer. I stayed behind the bar, cleaning up, trying to keep my distance. He stayed in his seat, still drinking only water, his strange violet eyes following my every movement. The tension in the room was thick, but unnoticed by my manager when he came in from the back office.
"Heero," he started, his eyes darting to the braided man then back to me, "I hope you don't mind closing up. I've got an early appointment, so I need to be getting home. Goodnight." With a final glance at Duo, he left, the door banging shut behind him.
As soon as the door closed he started to speak. "Heero," he said, raising himself out of his seat, "we need to talk."
I put down the glass that I'd been cleaning and slowly made my way around to the other side. "Alright, Mr. Maxwell," I replied, leaning back against the bar, folding my arms across my chest. "Talk."
He looked at me from under his bangs, biting his lip, not quite as confident as he had been earlier in the evening. "What happened last week, between us?"
Not knowing if he was asking for my take on the situation or if he was truly unable to remember, I decided to tell him my version of the truth. "You got wasted, passed out, and I made sure you got home."
"Is that all?"
I shrugged my shoulders and stretched the truth a little more. "Pretty much."
"Then why do I remember you kissing me?" he asked, his voice raising. Before I could come up with a reply, he went on, slowly moving toward me, "You kissed me! You knew I was drunk off my ass, and you took advantage of me!" He was in my face now, yelling in anger and confusion. "You did that, and now, every time I close my eyes, I see you!" He ran a hand through his bangs, still fuming. "And even now, I can feel you, your hands on me, your lips on mine, your tongue..." He trailed off as a shiver visibly passed through him, but he quickly regained his composure and poked a long finger into my chest, demanding, "What do you have to say for yourself, huh?"
I intended on apologizing to him, but when I breathed in, my senses were filled by the smell of him, and pure, animal instinct overcame all reason.
"I want to do it again."
His eyes glazed over slightly with lust and he exhaled a soft moan. That was all the encouragement I needed, and I growled, pulling his body close and crushing my mouth against his. He melted against my chest, fisting his hands in my shirt. I ran a hand up his back to tangle in the soft hair at the nape of his neck, and pressed his head closer, forcing our kiss to deepen.
We broke apart finally, both panting for air. His face was flushed with desire and breathlessness, and his full lips were bruised red from the force of our kiss. He was a truly breathtaking sight to behold.
Pressing my hips upward, I felt his denim-clad arousal grind against mine. I released a shuddering breath and asked him, "Your place or mine?"
"Mine," he gasped, thrusting his hips. He leaned in for another kiss, this one slower and easier than the one before. Maintaining contact with my mouth, he released my shirt and dug around in his pocket, finally retrieving his keys. Then, pulling away, he gave me a seductive smile.
We kept our hands off of each other during the drive to his place, not wanting to get in a wreck on the way. But as soon as he pulled into his parking space, we jumped out of the car and wrapped our bodies around each other, stumbling toward the maintenance elevator to get up to his apartment. We fell into the elevator car, groping and pawing at each other like high school kids on prom night, surely giving the security camera operator quite a show.
The floors ticked by slowly, as if Fate was purposely delaying our union. After a small eternity, the doors slid open and we rushed out into the hall, past a shocked elderly woman, ignoring the disapproving look she shot us.
He led me to his apartment door, doubtlessly trying to ignore the hands that slowly traced along the ridges and indentions of his abdomen, but he couldn't keep his hands from shaking violently, rendering him unable to unlock the door. Reaching around, I took his hand in mine and eased the key into the lock, turning the doorknob and pushing the door open.
We tumbled into his dark apartment and I backed him up against the door to close it, running my hands all over his body before settling them along the curve of his ass. Squeezing the firm globes, I rocked his hips against mine, glorying in the loud moan that was pulled from his throat.
He felt along the door, locking the deadbolt, then stretched his arm out to find the light switch. He fumbled for a moment before finally flicking the lights on and illuminating his apartment.
"Bedroom," he rasped, pushing himself away from the door. He extricated himself from my embrace and skirted around to lead me further into his apartment, kicking off his shoes and jerking his socks from his feet along the way. I did likewise before eagerly following him into his room.
He was waiting for me in the doorway, his lips curved in a sexy smile and his posture was relaxed when I gathered him in my arms, like he was meant to fit against my chest. Taking my face between his hands, he brought our lips together in a gentle caress, slowly walking backwards until we were standing at his bedside.
"I've been dying to see what you've been hiding underneath those suits of yours," I whispered, fingers flying down the front of his shirt. Pushing the black fabric over his shoulders, it fell to the floor, and I was given an unobstructed view of his smooth, broad chest, the pale skin flushed a rosy pink with excitement. I trailed my fingers over the tense muscles of his abdomen, watching them flutter under my touch. Pausing at the waistband of his jeans, I allowed myself an evil grin before unbuttoning and slowly unzipping his pants. Reaching inside, I gave his hard length a firm squeeze through his boxers, and he fell forward, hands gripping my biceps hard enough to bruise in an effort to remain standing.
"Oh, God, Heero..." he sighed as I pushed back the flap of his boxers to free him, wrapping my fingers around his heated flesh. He thrust into my hand, smothering his cries of pleasure by burying his face in the crook of my shoulder.
He whined in annoyance when I removed my hand, bucking his hips into empty air, but I quickly silenced him with a rough kiss. Returning to the task at hand, I carefully slid his jeans down his hips, letting them fall around his ankles, then removed his boxers in the same fashion.
Stepping out of the puddle of clothes at his feet, he turned in a circle in front of me, proudly displaying his naked form.
"Am I to your liking?"
Unable to rely on my voice, I settled for nodding my head vigorously.
Then he took control of the situation, setting a hand on my chest and pushing me down onto his bed. Straddling my lap, he leaned in for a rough, steamy kiss, all tongue and teeth. He made quick work of my shirt in the meantime, preferring to rip it open rather than take time to unbutton it. We worked together to remove the cloth barrier and he pressed his bare chest to mine, his slick erection digging insistently into my belly.
I rested my hands on his rear, alternately massaging the cheeks, spreading them apart, and trailing my fingertips down the cleft. He moaned his approval into my mouth, and so I pressed on, fingers questing lower to tease his entrance. His arousal twitched against my stomach and he reared back with a gasp.
"Lie down," he commanded, his voice deep with lust. I did as I was told, swinging my legs up onto the bed and resting my head upon the mass of pillows at the head of the bed. He stretched out on top of me, wedging a thigh between mine to rub against the bulge in my trousers over and over, making my breath come in harsh gasps.
"You like that?" he asked, his lips ghosting over my ear, pulling the lobe into his mouth and worrying it between his teeth. He nipped playfully at my throat, marking the skin, then moved lower to kiss along my collarbones. "And I haven't even gotten started..."
I closed my eyes and smiled, giving myself over to his ministrations. My lips formed an "O" as his mouth latched on to a nipple, his tongue flickering over the erect skin. The breath rushed out of me in a sharp hiss when he bit down, but his soft kisses soothed the wound. He licked a trail across my chest to the other fleshy bud, repeating the treatment. Impatient, I placed my hands on his shoulders and pushed him lower to where my need was greatest.
Obliging to my demands, he shifted his body lower, stopping when my still-clothed erection bumped against his chin. He raised himself up on his elbows and placed a wet kiss on my navel, then, finally, unbuttoned and unzipped my trousers. I lifted my hips off the bed, aiding the removal of the offending garment, and he pulled them down my legs, tossing them to the floor once they were off.
"Briefs?" he asked, and I opened my eyes to find him trailing a finger along the bulge in my underwear, eyebrow raised.
"Yeah," I panted, somewhat irritated. "What?"
He shook his head, the hair that framed his face tickling the tops of my thighs. "Nothing, nothing," he responded, hooking his fingers under the elastic waistband and gently tugging them down my hips, throwing them in the same direction as my discarded pants.
"Mmm," he sighed, swirling his tongue around the swollen head, "my own private cocktail."
The groan that escaped me was not in response to his bad joke, but to his mouth suddenly and completely enveloping me in its heat. I looked down my body at him, his head bobbing up and down my shaft, taking me in to the hilt every time. His eyes were closed in concentration, and mine fell shut as well when he sped up his rhythm. I buried a hand in his hair to encourage him, and he moaned around me, sending a shudder through my body. I could tell I was close and I craved that release, but the urge to be inside him was even greater.
I used his braid as a leash and pulled him up, away from the center of his attention. He growled at the loss, but I didn't give him any more time to complain, grabbing him by the shoulders and hefting his body to the mattress. I climbed on top of him, pinning him with my weight, and settled between his legs, pushing his knees farther apart to get better access.
He looked stunned at the quick change of pace, but adapted easily, pulling me down for a long kiss. I could taste a little bit of myself still on his tongue, and it excited me even more.
When we parted, he tilted his head to the side, answering a question I hadn't yet asked. "Bedside table, top drawer."
Fortunately, the drawer was within arm's reach, so I didn't have to leave him to find what I needed. After squeezing a generous amount of the slippery stuff onto my fingers, I reached between our bodies and soon found his entrance.
He jerked when I first touched the chilly substance to his overheated skin.
"Ah, ah, aah. Cold! Really cold!"
I laughed at him. "Get over it; it'll warm up soon enough."
He scowled at me, but his harsh expression melted into a look of intense pleasure as I pressed a finger past the tight ring of muscle. I felt around inside his hot passage, pausing when my finger brushed against his prostate. He arched off the bed beneath me, eyes snapping wide, mouth open in a soundless cry. He looked as if possessed by a demon.
I was just about to slide another finger inside him when he reached down and pulled my hand away.
"No more," he panted, shaking his head from side to side. "I want you *now*."
"But--" I attempted to protest, but he cut me off, grasping my erection with both hands.
"I'll be fine, just stick it in me now, or I'll go crazy."
Prying his hands off, I slathered my length with a thick coating of lubricant, then guided it to his entrance. I pushed my hips forward slightly, easing myself inside. I had pressed in only slightly, with only the head inside him, when he slammed his body down, taking me in to the root. I cried out at the unexpected action, feeling faint from the sudden rush of pleasure.
"Christ, Duo..." I ground out through clenched teeth. "Did I hurt you?"
His dark brows furrowed in a pained expression, but he managed a smile, despite the tears that threatened to spill out from his eyes. "It doesn't hurt much. And it's not your fault," he winced, a watery droplet leaking from the corner of his eye and disappearing into his hairline, "It's mine. You're perfect." Then he wiggled his hips, and all vestiges of pain vanished from his face. "Oh, yeah, that's it..." he moaned. Bucking against me, he whispered his readiness:
At his word, I pulled out halfway, then pushed slowly back in. I continued the slow thrusts, each time pulling out more and more until I was almost completely unsheathed. After he picked up my rhythm, he started meeting me halfway, holding on to my shoulders for leverage. Our bodies moved in time together, in and out, up and down, like a well-tuned engine.
Running my hands down the backsides of his thighs, I lifted his legs, hoisting his knees up over my elbows. The slight change in position altered the angle of my thrusts, and I began to pound mercilessly against his prostate with each stroke, making him delirious with desire. His head thrashed against the pillows and he screamed my name over and over, waves of pleasure rushing through his body.
I could feel my climax nearing as well, so I wrapped a slick hand around his dripping length and pumped in time with the movement of my hips. I wanted to see his completion before I reached my own.
A few strokes was all that was necessary for him to find release, and he came hard, spilling his hot juices over my hand and clenching his inner walls around me as I gave a few final thrusts. The look of sheer ecstasy on his handsome face was enough to send me over the edge, and I spent myself deep inside his body before collapsing on top of him.
We lay together in a tangled, sticky, sweaty jumble for a while, both of us trying to remember how to breathe after such an intense bout of lovemaking. Once we had regained our senses, I gently pulled out of his body, kissing him deeply, slowly caressing his tongue with mine.
Rolling off of him, I lay on my side and watched him for moment. His eyes were closed and his arms were slightly raised, his fingers loosely twined together over his head. He seemed to sense my attention and turned his head toward me, gifting me with a happy, sated smile.
"That was fabulous," he praised softly, now tracing the line of my jaw with his fingertips.
I took his fingers in mine, pressing them to my lips. "You are so beautiful," I breathed, finally seeing the sparkle light his eyes. "I think I could do that every night for the rest of my life."
Rolling over to face me, he ran a hand through my sweat dampened hair. "That would be..." he paused, searching for the right word, "nice. Wonderful, even." He scooted closer, snuggling against my chest. For a while I thought he had gone to sleep, but he spoke again, proving otherwise. "So... What's your last name? I don't think you ever told me."
I chuckled. "Yuy."
"Yuy, huh? Heero Yuy. Sounds nice."
"So does Duo Maxwell," I replied, removing the band that held his braid in place and shaking loose the plait until his hair flowed freely over both of us. He didn't seem to mind. Then, yawning, I wrapped my arms around his equally drowsy body and fell into a peaceful sleep, hands tangled in his hair.
A few weeks later, Duo stopped coming to the bar, but I wasn't surprised. After all, why go to the bar when you have your very own bartender at home?