This is for daomo7, who said such lovely things and made me remember that I'd written this story.
Later
by Melody Wilde
As they were walking down the hall, close but not touching, Mort was sure that within seconds after the door of the hotel room closed behind them, they would be in bed, or on the bed, or on the couch, or up against the wall. The where doesn't matter, only the what. And I can't believe how much I want it—or maybe I can.
Instead, as he was setting the locks on the door, Bain moved immediately to the room's only chair and settled down. When Mort turned, he gestured to the couch and said, "I think we should talk before we think about the fucking."
And so they did. They talked about the different paths their lives had taken in the past months. They talked of the various kinds of healing that they each had experienced. Mort told stories about his dog, and Bain told stories about the family who lived in the apartment across the hall from his, whose four-year-old daughter had adopted him as an uncle.
The time went too fast. All too soon, Bain was tapping at his watch and lifting an eyebrow. "You do not want to be late to your book signing."
I totally forgot about it. And at this moment in time, I couldn't possibly careless about it. But Bain was standing, moving toward the door, putting an end to the conversation.
Oh god he's going to leave and I'll never see him again.
Without thinking, he grabbed Bain's arm...then froze as he remembered what had happened when he had done that before. But this time, when Bain turned toward him, the eyes were dark with something other than anger.
"Don't leave," he whispered.
Bain shook his head and smiled. "My friend, you will have a very hard time making me leave now." He leaned forward to let his forehead brush against Mort's. "You must know that I very much would like to take you to bed and pleasure you for the rest of the night—and beyond—but there is this other thing. This commitment which must be honored first. And then..."
His smile held a promise which made Mort catch his breath.
"I would like to kiss you before we go, but I am afraid if I start, I will not be able to stop."
Mort nodded. Then stopped. "'We'? You'll go with me to the bookstore?"
"Of course. Did you think I would not want my copy of your book autographed?"
They were both laughing as they caught the elevator.
The overly solicitous store manager had everything ready—a comfortable chair, an assortment of bottled water and herbal teas and coffee fresh from Starbucks, a selection of pens, and, of course, a stack of books. The line was already stretching out the door and down the block. Hiding a sigh behind a smile, Mort waved to his fans and settled himself. Bain, who had vanished as they entered the bookstore, was nowhere to be seen.
With an effort, Mort concentrated on the task at hand, signing, smiling, thanking, being the perfect author. Finally, after what seemed like hours, the line seemed to be coming to an end. When the last book was placed before him, he looked up to see Bain smiling down at him.
He grinned with delight. "And how should I autograph this, sir?"
"Just say 'to my biggest fan'."
He wrote, then turned the book so Bain could read the inscription. A dark brow went up. "'To the inspiration for my next book'?"
"I'll let you read it. Later. In fact I think I'm going to ask you to go through it and point out all the places where I went wrong."
"Do you ever go wrong, my friend?"
"You'd be surprised."
The manager was hovering, expressing his gratitude, no doubt tallying up the money he'd made from book sales during the afternoon. Mort signed a few more books for sale in the store, shook the man's hand, and rose to go.
To his astonishment, he swayed ever so slightly, lightheaded. Bain slid a hand under his elbow, making a disapproving sound. "Have you eaten today?"
"I had..." Hell, I'm not even sure I had supper last night. Breakfast? No, just coffee. And lunch...
"I interrupted your lunch. And while I think you are not angry that I did so—"
"Christ, no!"
"There is an Italian restaurant next door. Is that suitable?"
"But..."
Bain was herding him toward the door. He barely had time to throw a wave over his shoulder at the manager.
"Believe me, Mort Rainey, you will need all your strength before this night is over."
The promise, and the tone in which it was delivered, went straight to Mort's groin.
The pasta had been excellent, the wine even better, and the company best of all. There had been talk and laughter and the comfortable silences of those who knew each other well. Mort found it hard to remember that he really didn't know Bain so well. We spent so little time together, and so much time apart...
"What are you thinking in your busy mind, Mort Rainey?"
"How glad I am that you're here."
"As am I." He slid a hand across the table to touch Mort's. "I would like you to know this. There has been no one for me—no one since you. Oh..." He tilted his head slightly and shrugged. "I have pleasured myself, but otherwise...no."
"It's been that long for me, too."
"Ah." Bain leaned back and reached into the breast pocket of his jacket for his wallet. "Then I believe it is time for us to pay the check and go back to your hotel room."
I believe you're absolutely right.
This time, the door was barely closed before Bain's hands were on him, fingers threading through his hair, mouth taking his. He gasped, and Bain's tongue slid between his lips. The doorknob was pressing into his hip, but he barely felt it. His hands were on Bain, trying to pull him closer, moaning as he felt Bain's erection press against his own, hot even through the layers of clothing that separated them.
Bain jerked his mouth away. He was breathing heavily. "I wanted to go slowly. To touch you with love and respect, not...not like this."
"Miguel..." He shook his head. "Let's do the love and respect thing later, okay? Right now I don't care if you fuck me up against the door, as long as you fuck me."
Bain laughed and reached down to turn the locks.
They dragged each other to the bed, pieces of clothing scattered behind them, and fell on top of the coverlet, legs tangling, arms wrapped around each other, mouths almost fused. Mort realized he had lost his glasses somewhere along the way, but he couldn't make himself care. The only thing that matters is this...this...oh god, it feels so good, so right, so...so...
Then Bain's hand wrapped around his cock, not even trying to do anything, just touching, and, with a helpless moan, he shuddered into orgasm. Too fast, too quick, but sweet Jesus too too good.
Bain went still, waiting until Mort was able to breathe again, then lifted his hand and stared at the wetness covering it. "My friend..."
Oh shit. "Miguel...I'm sorry...I didn't mean..."
"Shhh." Bain chuckled and nuzzled against his neck. "Do not apologize. I am so honored. This makes me feel... Good."
They were still for a moment, and then Mort whispered, "Please?"
Bain nodded and sat up. He leaned over the side of the bed and retrieved his slacks, then dug into a pocket and pulled out a new tube of KY. Mort's eyes widened.
"I bought it while you were signing books."
"Good thinking." Mort grinned. "I knew there was a reason I loved you."
It had been a casual remark, but the word hung in the air between them. Oh goddamn, I didn't mean...I did mean, but...
"And do you, Mort Rainey?" Bain's voice was a soft caress.
What's the right answer here? The truth? If I say yes will he get up and get dressed and walk away? It's way too soon for either of us to know...to think...to be sure...
"Your mind is working again. Speak from here." Bain touched his chest.
"Yeah. I do."
In the afternoon light streaming through the curtains, Mort thought he saw tears sparkling in Bain's dark eyes.
"That is...so good. Because I do not think I can live without you. It sounds foolish. It sounds like some childish fantasy. But it is true."
And then Bain was moving, settling him onto his back, opening his legs. A few quick movements and a hand was sliding beneath him, searching. He bent his knees, making the access easier, and Bain touched him...there, yes just there.
Bain was gentle—so gentle—the tip of one well-lubricated finger circling, then just the tip going inside. He moved, trying to take it deeper, and Bain shook his head. "Slowly, my friend. I do not wish to hurt you."
He moved cautiously, making sure Mort was in no pain before proceeding. Then a second finger joined the first, at a snail's pace, scissoring carefully to open him. I think I'm going to die of this before he gets around to...oh Jesus! One of the fingers had touched the spot that made him cry out and go hard again just like a fucking horny 16-year old. And still Bain waited, gradually inserting a third finger, stretching, preparing, maddeningly slow.
"Miguel, please..."
"What do you want, mi amor? Tell me." The tone was light and teasing, yet also thick with need.
"Fuck me. Please."
The slowness was over. Bain was up on his knees, moving into place, lifting Mort's hips, positioning himself and then sliding in, a hot, deep, fullness that made Mort's back arch and wrung a groan from him.
"Does this hurt?" Bain's voice was breathless.
"No...oh god...fuck me..."
And he did, fucking with quick, urgent strokes, one hand on Mort's hip, holding him, while the other moved to circle Mort's erection and begin to pump, hand and cock moving as mirror images of each other, hard, and fast, and needy...
When Bain came, the expression on his face triggered Bain's own orgasm.
The light from the window was fading before either of them moved. Bain was sprawled mostly atop him his hand still around Mort's cock, although his own spent member had long since slipped free of Mort's body.
"And what are you thinking now, Mort Rainey?" Bain's lips moved against his chest with the question.
Too many things to even start talking about. But it all boils down to...
"That I'm never going to let you leave me again, even if I'm hurt and drugged up and in a hospital bed. I'll drag myself after you and—"
Bain surged upward and silenced him with a kiss.
And they really did live happily ever after.