Nights Without Night Page 7

  I want him so much the feeling almost burns.

  “Are you gonna take what I give you?” I murmur in his ear. He grunts again, and I feel his hips move as he rubs himself against the bedspread.

  “None of that,” I say, smacking him lightly on the ass. He makes another little noise and stops. I can see the want in him too, and it only emboldens me.

  “Don’t move,” I tell him, and my hands turn soft, leaving it to his discipline to follow my order. He stills, the tautness crackling in the air.

  I move down his body. My hands may be gentle, but my hungry mouth is vicious. I bite and suck a path down his back, mapping out all the tension lines holding for me.

  When I reach his ass, I grip each cheek in a hand, squeezing tight. Isadoro huffs out a choked sound and I can’t take it anymore. I part his cheeks and lick a long line against his hole.

  The reaction is immediate. He jerks under me, his hips pressing against the bed.

  “Jesus!” he says. I move back slightly, humming contemplatively. My hands are still on his cheeks, and I press both my thumbs against his hole, rubbing my spit in. I lick him again, right over my thumbs and his hole, getting him wetter.

  I watch as one of my thumbs presses inside. The rippled ring sucks it in, Isadoro’s hips tilting slightly to give me a better angle. I twist my thumb and, without ceremony, push the other one in so they’re nail-to-nail, facing sideways. Isadoro gasps and I push them in as far as they’ll go.

  “Fuck! Fuck, fuck,” he babbles, but I’m not done.

  I part my thumbs slightly, stretching him. He groans long and hard and I lean in, using the gap between my thumbs to lick inside. I move the tips of them against his walls, massaging him there and he starts bucking slightly against my face, making noises like a wild thing.

  I remove my fingers in a quick pull and he lets out a whine. I press the flat of my tongue against his hole and then suck hard there.

  I’ve never seen Isadoro go so crazy in bed before. He yanks at the sheets, head bowed and desperately gasping as he lifts his hips. I follow, hitching his hips up for real so he’s on his knees and the angle is better. I spear my tongue in, out, in again. He trembles and moves with me, and I can’t quite believe I have this in my hands. His straining muscle and force, the pleading mass of him, for me.

  “You want me to fuck you?” I ask. Isadoro groans. “Or do you wanna fuck me? Is that what you’re thinking about? Opening me up and filling me with this big dick of yours…”

  I reach down, squeezing the head of his leaking cock, rubbing at the slit. Isadoro breaks. He bucks suddenly, throwing me off, and pins me with a forearm against my clavicles. His eyes stare down at me, two dark points glowing with darkness.

  “You want to play games?” he growls.

  “If I did, I’d be winning,” I say through my racing heart.

  The smile he gives me bodes terrible things.

  He yanks the lube from the nightstand and fucks two fingers into me. I moan at the sudden intrusion, but it’s not long before he’s pushing in a third. The stretch has me gasping and clutching at him, my cock achingly hard.

  “Is this what you were looking for?” he mutters darkly in my ear.

  “Is that your dick? I think you’ve shrunk,” I snark.

  Isadoro pulls back slightly and stops inches from my face. With brutal precision, he starts fucking his fingers against my prostate at every thrust. All the while he just looks at me, at my mouth dropping open, wet and red, at the flush I feel rising on my cheeks, the shape of the desperate little noises I’m making.

  “What were you saying?” he teases.

  “You. Have. A. Small. Penis,” I say between moans. He snorts.

  “That was very convincing.”

  I open my eyes and grab the back of his neck.

  “Isadoro. Fuck me. Now,” I tell him.

  Apparently, those are the magic words.

  He wipes his hand against the sheets and puts the condom on, crawling between my legs and wrapping them around his waist. Then, to my surprise, he slides us to the edge of the bed and stands up, taking me with him.

  “What-!” I shout, startled, but he just turns around and pushes me against a wall, my legs still around him.

  “Bastard,” I try to say, but the word is punched out as he thrusts in.

  I don’t have time to catch my breath. I’m just clinging to his broad shoulder and bulging bicep as he holds me up. I can’t even speak, not even his name, my voice a series of broken grunts he fucks out of me.

  “Touch yourself for me, Iván,” he says. I follow his instruction blindly. There’s not a single thought in my mind. All I know is Isadoro’s hands under my thighs, his cock deep in my ass, the searing glow of pleasure inside me.

  I fist my cock. I moan, and his lips take it away from me. I can’t breathe it’s all so good, so much, as Isadoro keeps pounding away.

  “Is…Isa,” I moan, and the orgasm hits me like a burst of light. Isadoro just keeps thrusting into me. I shudder against him, feeling every inch inside my over-sensitized body. I take it, the pleasure expanding and thinning, until he presses me against the wall, groaning as he comes too. I can feel the twitches of his cock inside my abused hole.

  I’m panting and incoherent. Isadoro stumbles us onto the bed and we collapse. He barely coordinates taking the condom off and throwing it into the trash can before slumping against me. We’re lying lengthwise across the bed, legs dangling off, but we don’t even care, fucked out of our heads.

  “Holy shit,” I say.

  “Who has a small dick, again?” Isadoro pants out. I laugh, pressing my face against him.

  “Fucking idiot,” I say with every ounce of love in the world.

  My body is limp and sated as our heartbeats calm down. I can hear his where my ear rests on his chest. It's steady and comforting, and I just listen to it for a while.

  “Do you think you’ll adopt that dog from the shelter?” I say as the thought randomly passes through my mind.

  “Not right now,” he says, a mumble I can still feel through his lungs.

  “How come?”

  “It’s not the right moment,” he says, and I go cold.

  “Are you…thinking of going somewhere?” I try to say nonchalantly, hiding the fear that suddenly spears me. Isadoro squeezes me closer.

  “Not what I meant. I’m just not ready for that responsibility.”

  “Oh,” I say, feeling a little silly. “Okay, that makes sense.”

  “It would be cool though, having a dog around.”

  “Yeah. I still miss Philipo,” I say, referring to one of the dogs we had grown up with at the farm. He had been some unidentified breed, a true mutt, but beautiful. Of medium height, he’d had thick, coarse fur, grey and brown tipped with white. His long snout had been a little bearded, giving him a wise air about him which suited him.

  There had been a lot of dogs in our childhood, owned by the families we lived next to. They were allowed to roam loose most of the day, and they would often go in groups or pairs to explore the area. Though it was good to see them with so much freedom, it meant a lot of them simply disappeared, run over by cars or for some unknown reason. That was the worst bit—not knowing what had happened to them. They were all chipped, so it was unlikely someone had found and kept them, but it was always a hope. People don’t realize how painful hope can be when it’s fruitless. Its barren branches hang heavy with suffering, when otherwise the loss would rest on the ground, left to decompose and join the earth.

  “I miss Bolo,” Isadoro replies. Bolo had been a Boxer, goofy and good-natured, but could turn suddenly territorial if pressed. Then again, all dogs I had come across could turn ferocious when challenged enough. Bolo had been addicted to fetching pinecones, barking at you to throw them, although more reticent about giving them back. He’d reminded me of the main character in a kid’s cartoon movie about dogs, while Philipo was the cool, street-wise dog who shows the pup the ropes. Philipo had had the strange
quirk of picking up and holding a leaf in his mouth when we went for long walks around the farm, and had been as smart as he was loyal.

  I remember staying up through the summer nights with Isadoro, playing Nintendo games until the sun rose up. The sight of that sliver of red in the horizon would energize us suddenly, and we’d run to the nearest reservoir, sitting on one of its dirt edges to watch the sunrise. Philipo would always follow us, a leaf in his mouth. He’d sit silently beside us as if he too could see the oranges and pinks spreading like watercolours across blotting paper. When the sky finally turned blue, we’d run down the side of the reservoir, shrieking madly. Philipo would follow, tail wagging happily and eyes bright.

  I chuckle into Isadoro’s chest at the memory.

  “What is it?” Isadoro asks, and I can tell he’s already smiling.

  “I was just thinking…remember when we took a joy ride in Tita Maria’s car?” I ask. Isadoro’s laugh rumbles through him.

  “Yeah,” he says. We’d stolen the crappy little car just as the sun rose and drove it along the road next to the farm. We’d blasted the AC at its coldest setting, and the radio had been tuned to some classical music channel, blaring on the tinny speakers. It had been in perfect juxtaposition to our crazy laughter as we raced the car down the road.

  “You ever think of going back there? Working at the farm or something?” I ask.

  “Not really. Especially if you’re not there. I know you like it here,” he says. I tilt my head up to look at him.

  “Best friends forever, huh?”

  “Yes,” he says simply, and I believe him.

  **********

  Life gains rhythm.

  Isadoro starts going out more again, at least to the dog shelter or the gym. I keep an eye on him at work, but he’s stone-faced and professional, giving nothing away. I invite him to outings, just the two of us. He mostly agrees, but he never suggests any of his own. I learn to choose less crowded places. The forest, the botanical gardens, the park. One Saturday we stop at a café and he spends it looking intently at a couple who seem on the verge of arguing, like he’s waiting for something.

  At home, we both keep strange hours, but we fuck late into the night. He likes to be in control, but I like breaking him apart. One tired Tuesday night, I finger him until he’s begging, a desperate, squirming mess in my bed. He’s trembling in the aftermath of his orgasm and I stroke his shivering muscles, running my fingers through the hair of his panting chest.

  As good as the sex is, he never stays the night. Sometimes it feels like I’m holding something in my hands which looks like what I’ve always wanted but is hollow inside.

  At night, he’s like a ghost haunting the apartment. He exists in the static of the TV, the shuffle of steps, the distinctive sound of a plug being slotted in a few walls over. I lay in my bed and wonder what he’s thinking. Wonder if he’s haunted by his own ghosts, if they also come out at night. I question if my worry is overblown, if it’s just a faulty circadian rhythm.

  My head pinwheels.

  It’s past 2:00 a.m. and I can hear the TV on in the living room. Fed up with my own thoughts, I get up and tread towards the noise. Isadoro is already looking in my direction as I step into the living room and I sit beside him on the couch. I press against him, head on his shoulder, and he wraps his arm around me.

  “Don’t you sleep?” I ask eventually. I feel Isadoro shift beside me.

  “Sometimes.”

  “Do you have nightmares?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Is that why you don’t sleep? And don’t say sometimes,” I say, lifting my head to look at him. He smiles slightly.

  “Right after Mosul, we did some vampire work. Night extractions. Guess I’m just used to having nights without night,” he says. I frown. That wasn’t a no.

  “Sounds exhausting.”

  “Sometimes.”

  “You know, you can come into my bed if you want. Whenever you want. If it would help,” I say. He looks at me for a moment.

  “Don’t think I don’t see how hard you’ve been working yourself, Iván. You need to sleep.”

  “So do you.”

  “I don’t think it’ll do us good to both be sleep deprived.”

  “Depends on what we do instead of sleeping,” I joke, but I don’t make a move, pressing my nose against his shoulder. His arm is still wrapped around me, and it falls to my waist, his palm flat against my stomach. There’s another moment of TV-filled silence.

  “Why don’t you quit the bartending job? I have money,” Isadoro says.

  The truth is I’ve thought about it. It would be a huge relief, but I don’t want to leave him working at the bar on his own. I’ll wait until I’m sure he’s adjusting before I consider quitting.

  “Maybe,” I say, turning my attention towards the TV. “What are you watching?”

  “Time Traveller’s Wife.”

  “Hmm, I wish I could time travel,” I say absently, thinking about all the paintings and buildings I could see in their prime if I could go back in time. “It would be such a cool superpower.”

  “What! Iván, that would literally be the worst superpower to have,” Isadoro says. I lift my head again to narrow my eyes at him.

  “Why the hell?”

  “It’d be too much responsibility. Think of all the terrible historic moments you could alter in retrospect. But every time you went back, you don’t really know what you would change, or—there’s like a million things to think about,” he says sensibly. I don’t pout.

  “You could just go to the future, then! That’d be cool.”

  “Yeah, but then you would learn things from that future’s past, so you wouldn’t be able to go back again 'cause you’d be travelling back in time and changing that future. So you would only ever be able to go forwards, alone…It would be an endless cycle.”

  “Jesus. Fine, then. I’ll stick to flying as my superpower.”

  “Then you’d have to think about how the altitude would affect you, the speed, the cold…”

  “Oh my God. You are the biggest downer ever. What’s the best superpower then Mr. Marvel?”

  “Teletransportation. We could go anywhere. The Bahamas. Great Wall of China…”

  “Taking me with you, are you?”

  “Who else?” he says.

  “Well, my superpower would be multiple orgasms. Zero refractory period,” I snark. Isadoro snorts, but his eyes are dark as he looks at me.

  Isadoro tries to carry me to the bedroom, but I smack him across the head until he lets me go. We laugh into my room and I bounce as I throw myself onto my bed. Isadoro follows, and we play-fight for a while like we used to do as children. This time, however, we’re distracted by wandering hands and lips. I pull at his clothes until he relents, letting me strip him bare for me. I push him away as he tries to do the same to me and force him to watch my smirk as I undress slowly on the bed. When I’m done, he’s smiling too, like he knows something I don’t.

  “Is that how you want to play it?” he murmurs as he cages me between his arms, leaning over my prone body.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say innocently. Isadoro grins.

  He grabs the lube, coating his fingers and then thrusting two into me. My hips arch, but I tamp down a noise. His smile widens.

  He brushes his mouth against my body, fingers moving in and out of me until he reaches my already hard cock. He licks the base of my dick and I shudder. He moves with small, short, teasing licks until he reaches the tip. Suddenly, his mouth wraps around my cock, his lips tucked over his teeth and pressing right below the head as he strokes the tip roughly with his tongue.

  “Jesus, Isa!” I shout, struggling not to thrust up as I rake my fingernails across his scalp.

  Merciless, he sucks hard on the tip of my cock and then starts scissoring his fingers inside me. Where he’s usually slow and methodical he’s all brutal intensity now, and my insides liquify.

  His lips move down my
shaft, a tight, wet ring as his tongue pushes against the underside. Suddenly, I’m in his throat, and he swallows around me. God, he really has done this before. I feel jealousy mix with arousal, almost making it more potent. I clutch at what little hair I can as I thrust into his mouth, not being able to keep still anymore. He just takes it.

  Fuck you, I think to whoever has had this before. Fuck you. He’s mine.

  In the middle of the confusing mix of emotions, I come. It blindsides me completely, the pleasure having spiked so quickly. My mouth is a wet, soundless ‘O’ as I feel him swallow around me even though I’m not wearing a condom. Not that it’s the first time we’ve gone bare on blowjobs, and I know I’m clean, but the hazy mental note to talk about it stands.

  My spent dick rests wetly on my thigh, covered in Isadoro’s spit and the remnants of my come. There’s something disgustingly hot about that.

  I try to blink my eyes open but Isadoro is kissing me, tasting of me. I lap at it with a possessiveness I’ve never felt with anybody else.

  I only notice his fingers are still inside me when they start to move again.

  “What…” I mutter in a haze, but he kisses any protest away. The fingers avoid my prostate but they’re an odd, over-sensitized pleasure inside me.

  We drag out each kiss until his fingers become a little more intent. I gasp into his mouth and feel him grin. Slowly, he kisses down my neck until his mouth is on one of my nipples. He drags the flat of his tongue across it and then pulls it with his lips until I’m writhing on the bed. I’m fully hard again, I realize, his fingers massaging my prostate as he bites one nipple, then the other, and back to the first. The live wire of my pleasure sparks against the landscape of my closed eyes.

  “Isa, Isa,” I say, and he comes up, mouth leaving my chest to find my lips, kissing me hard and bruising and then just pulling back. His other hand jerks me off slowly and he just watches me unravel, gasping his name.

  The second orgasm washes over me in trembling ripples as I look back at Isadoro. When my body finally slumps, it’s exhausted. I look at Isadoro through slit-eyes as he strokes my face. I wait, but he doesn’t remove his fingers from inside me.