Morning Has Broken

It’s quiet when he opens his eyes in a shaft of bright light.  He frowns, feels that the hollow next to him is barely warm, and that Drin must have tucked up the sheets around him.  He feels a hot coal of warning light up in his tailbone when he twists, and then something clicks down there, relaxes, and the pain goes away, just like that.  He frowns, stretches body parts in slow testing motions, and sits up, puts his feet down on the cold rag rug beside the bed.

There’s a clicking noise in the house, and lights come on.  Air starts moving.

“Ahh,” Dance says.  “You found the breakers.”

Silence.

He starts to stand up when he hears a door close.

Drin’s talking to him from that other room before he gets three steps across the bedroom.  Just talking, not raising his voice to yell across the house, knowing exactly how well Dance can hear him.  “Sweetheart, it’s just me.  The breaker panel is in the garage.  Looks like everything is working fine now, huh?”

Dance nods, scrubs at his face.  “Come talk to me, tell me what you found.”

Drin is grinning.  “When I could be getting the coffee maker going?  Heating up the kettle for your tea?”

Dance yawns.  “Yes, you are right.  We need caffeine now.”

He gets swooped up naked into a hug made chillier by Drin’s puffy outdoor jacket and rough jeans, and he yelps.

“It’s great outside, you’re gonna love it.”

“You vicious cruel morning person,” Dance says, which is something Emma would say.

“Oh, yeah,” Drin agrees, hugging him tighter, lifting him right off his feet, and his whole spine gives absurd clunking noises and relaxes.  Drin releases him.  “Better?”

Dance stretches again.  “You are going to be good for us, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.  Okay, sleepy boy, have your shorts.  You’ll need your pants, a heavy shirt, jacket, good socks, your boots.  It’s cold out there, wind is going a bit.”

“Brrr,” Dance says.

“Where’s my hot jock guy who did that five am run every morning, huh?”

Dance sighs.  “Tired out from late night corrections.”

“Yeah, that’s why we needed a trip away.  So we’ll just walk a bit and look at the beach, and then we’ll thaw out with a nice hot shower.”

“After having your wicked messy way with me?”

He just gets a kiss from chilled lips in a spot which makes him yelp again.

Drin saunters off into the kitchen, laughing that maddening, superior, up-earlier-than-thou laugh.

red teakettle on stove
red kettle, source unknown

By the time Dance has laced on his hiking boots, there are mugs sitting on the kitchen counter, steaming.  “Ahhh,” he says, burying his nose in the warmth.

Drin perches on the next stool, unzips his down jacket, puts his nose in his own mug.  “Ahh, they gave us the good stuff.”

“Indeed,” Dance murmurs, and leans his elbows on the counter, blinking.

Drin ruffles his hair.  “You look like an owl!”

“Well, I am,” Dance says, and opens his eyes very wide.  “I am a night owl now, right?”

“I’d like to get back some of that five am jock back from Maestro Young’s evil clutches,” Drin says.  The man’s eyes are not joking at all.

“Yeah,” Dance agrees, and yawns again. Then he taps his own neck with two fingers, and beckons at his husband.

“What?” Drin says, but he unbuttons his shirt, he lets Dance pull the cloth down, and he lets Dance look in bright morning light at the bite marks on his trapezius muscle.

The bruises are just where Drin would sling a strap for a bag or a backpack, halfway between his neck and the tip of his collarbone.  That won’t be fun if he does try to wear a pack.

Purpling teeth-marks on either side of the muscle map out Dance’s upper and lower dental impression.  Two more marks, scabbed, sit in the middle of the ellipse on Drin’s back.  Nothing like that shows on the front side.  Two deep marks, bruised in a maroon red, obviously inflicted by something thin and sharp.  They look just like needlemarks from a blood draw or an injection.

Dance looks at them carefully, and attempts to use that to map where the “needles” came from.  When he runs his tongue over the inside of his own mouth, there is nothing new. No trace of extra holes, nothing hiding sharp bits.  There’s just the same bulges and ridges on his upper palate as ever, the same as they always felt.

“Did you look at these in the mirror?” Dance asks, staring at the two scabs.

“Yeah, in front.  When you bite, you don’t fool around.  But it’s not bad.  Feels a little stiff.  Reminds me of you, when I move my arm and stuff.”  He smiles.

Dance shakes his head.  “Did you see these holes in back?  Here and here.”

“Doesn’t hurt there.  I didn’t notice anything special.  So what’s it look like?” Drin says.

Dance says, “If our Drin was a beautiful actress, we ourselves must be playing the bad vampire.”

“Sweetheart, if you were a vampire, I’d invite you in and ask you to be especially bad to me,” Drin says solemnly, but his eyes are laughing.

“How bad?” Dance asks, unable to resist, especially with Drin’s arms hugging around him and the man’s mouth kissing his cheek, then his ear.  Dance helpfully tips his chin out of the way.

“Very,” Drin murmurs, kissing his way down Dance’s neck.  “Mmm, nice.”

“Is the actress supposed to– oh, yes, please,” as he feels a hand unzipping his pants.

“Is she supposed to do this?” Drin says.  He slides his fingers skillfully into Dance’s shorts, rubbing lightly at Dance’s balls.  “Or is she supposed to kneel down and plead for you to let her suck your dick?  Begging you to let her get it in her mouth?”

Dance looks down.  “No,” he says.  “She’s not supposed to.  But if she does it anyway, and gets the bad vampire all carried away and–” he sighs at the hot, moist mouth covering the tip of his cock, and drawing back coyly, “–and he gets very bad.”

Drin smiles up at him, licks his lips, breathes on the tip of his rigid cock.  “What if she wants that bad vampire to be really bad to her?”

“Oh, he might have to grant her whatever she wants,” Dance says, watching the mouth close onto his dick, draw him in.  “That is– making me really–”  he sighs as the heat draws back.

“Morning wood, gotta love it,” Drin says, stroking Dance with one hand.  Then he stands up, looks at Dance, pulls Dance’s hand down.  “Come on, show me how you like it.”

“Ah, no, I’ll come–” Instead, he reaches up and tugs at Drin’s shirt.

“Just like that?  What a hasty vampire!”  Drin pulls off the jacket and the shirt for him.

“I think our actress kind of knows something she wants, even if she’s a big tease and she doesn’t really know what she’s getting into right now,” Dance says, harsh and low, and he crowds Drin’s hips back into the kitchen counter, and grinds against him.  Kisses his nipples, tonguing them, nibbling at them.  Then he pulls his head away, and he says, “Oh, getting all wet, so these–come down–”

He unzips Drin’s pants, grabs the waistbands, yanks down shorts and jeans, frees the dick jumping to his attention.  He fists Drin, stroking up and down, stops to spread his hand and stroke the man’s balls instead.  With his other hand on Drin’s neck, he pulls Drin’s head down to kiss him thoroughly, taking the man’s mouth, shoving his tongue everywhere.

Drin moans a little, and Dance draws back.  “Yes?” he asks.

“Maybe she wants him to bite the other shoulder too.  Maybe she really wants him to fuck her until she comes, and bite the fucking silly daylights out of her.”

“Even if it hurts?”  He slides his hand along Drin’s hip, cups one buttock.  “So much fucking.  Maybe this is too rough.  We could get this coming a lot of times without putting a dick inside.”

Drin’s hand finds Dance, strokes his cock.  “Yeah?  What if we’re asking really nicely–”

Dance grips the man’s arms, turns him away, guides him over to face the table, pushes him down onto it, and says, “Stay.”

When he returns, he finds Drin slowly masturbating, pants around his ankles, with his chest down on the table and his face quite red with arousal.

He comes up behind Drin, slides his gloved hands onto the man’s hips, spreads the butt muscles apart, and looks at the man’s anus for any problems.  It moves, clenches and relaxes gently as the man breathes.  Beneath it, Drin’s balls are tightening, drawing up, knowing he’s being examined.  It turns him on.  Satisfied, Dance warms up lube on a latex-gloved hand, strokes lube across the pink tissue, and slides two fingers easily into the opening, sinking them in up to the base.

Drin gasps.

Dance says, thinking it out, “Telling about it really turns her on, and maybe she comes before bossy vampire allows it, doesn’t she?”  Another finger slides in.  He starts probing for that prostate gland.

Drin gives a little surprised wheeze.  “Fuck, yeah.”

Dance spreads his other fingers wide, strokes at the man’s balls.  More lube on his anus, drooled on cold, without warming it.  Drin gasps.

“Maybe the vampire puts both hands inside her, one in her cunt–” he slides his free hand between Drin’s thighs and starts stroking his balls and the base of his cock.  “–and the other one in her ass–”  He moves his fingers, making room.  “Maybe she comes twice, yelling names, and he will be very surprised who taught her so well!”  The little finger slides in.  His middle fingers stroke that spot he knows works so well for Drin.

Drin gasps.

“Or it hurts too much the first time, and no, she doesn’t like it.”  Dance slides out his hand, lets go of Drin’s balls.

“Jeezus fuck,” Drin gasps.

“I think this bad vampire will keep coming back, fucking her on logs in the woods, swoop down in the big fancy maze and taking her on a bench at some night party.  Drag her out behind the mansion, in the stable at night, make the stable boys all lick her cunt and then she sucks them off, and then that bad vampire fucks all of them.  But he makes her use that dildo and peg him, too, he makes her happy about a lot of surprising things,” Dance murmurs, and rolls on a condom.  He squeezes more lube onto the condom, stands behind Drin, lines up his cock on the man’s hole, pushes into him in one long, slow stroke.  “And– what– what does the young lady say now?”

Drin swears in high stuttering gasps, breathes out hard, and growls, “Do me.”

“Right,” Dance says, leaning over the man’s back, pressing wet kisses along his spine.  His mouth is drooling cum already.  He licks it onto Drin’s back.  “How does that feel?”

More stuttery breaths.  “Oh wonderful.  Fuck me, Dance, please fuck me, please.”

Dance rocks his hips slowly out.  In again.

“Please,” Drin says, and tightens his buttock muscles down hard, pulling slabs of muscle tight against Dance’s cock.  Dance gives a sigh, jolted by that pressure, and the thrust gets a grunt, and a breathless chuckle, from Drin.

“Yeah–” and Drin is pushing back, hips rocking back and forth, impaling himself.

“You feel– too good–” Dance moans.  He’s pistoning away, losing it, and jolting to a stop again, coming back to himself with a horrified cry, gripping Drin’s hips to a stop, alarmed.

“I’m good,” Drin wheezes.  “Jeezus, Dance, you’re so fucking–long–feels like you’re way up in my lungs there–”

torso shot of actor Lee Byun Hun
torso shot, actor Lee Byung Hun

Dance leans on the man’s back while the man’s ribs keep heaving for air.  “Bend a little more, turn back this shoulder you want–I need to, I need to– do you really want me– to bite?  Oh yes, good.  I’m going, Drin, I’m going–”

He arches in hard, hips rocking slower than he really wants, and he closes his mouth carefully on the ridge of muscle that Drin offers him.  He feels the pressure building hard at both cock and mouth.  He tries not to grip down with his front teeth, he tries to just let it build up and happen, while they rock together.  Drin moans under him.  Drin’s pelvis is pushing back, rocking up at Dance just as fast as Dance is slamming down into him.

Then Drin tightens down his buttock muscles, clenches everything tight on him, too much.

Dance grabs on with his mouth, pushes his cock to the root inside Drin, and comes.

There’s the little clunk! relaxing in his head, mouth-cum slides out of his open lips and down Drin’s skin, but he doesn’t feel the odd little lock coming loose again.  Something pulses rhythmically in the back of his mouth, it’s coming as hard as his dick, but it just keeps going.  His bite is pumping whatever it is directly into open wounds in Drin’s body.  As it keeps pumping fluid, there’s resistance coming back at him, fluid is building in Drin’s muscle tissue, slowing down on accepting any more of that injection.

“Oh fuck me, fuck me,” Drin moans, pushing upward hard, almost lifting Dance’s boots off the floor.  Dance reaches around, grips Drin’s cock, pumps him twice, and feels spurts of hot fluid fill his cupped hand.  Drin’s cock twitches in place, his hips push Dance up once more, and then he’s poised there for a long moment, not even breathing.

Then the big man draws in a long breath, under Dance’s chest, and suddenly everything relaxes.  All the muscles slacken under Dance.

Somehow that makes the little click! of release happen in his mouth.

Gradually the pulsing in his sinuses stops, and Dance opens his mouth, releases Drin’s shoulder, feels himself drooling onto Drin’s back.  He licks the mouth-cum around wider on Drin’s skin.  He feels like it ought to be an apology instead.

Drin sprawls down onto his elbows on the table, gasping.

Dance licks cum onto Drin’s shoulder blades, down his spine, feeling how relaxed those muscles are.  “Hurting?”

“Fuck no,” Drin says.  He shifts one arm, turns his head.  “Dance–”

“Yes?” Dance murmurs, licking the man’s trunk muscles just below the floating ribs.

“–you could do that all day, if you want.”

“No hiking the beach for you, if I did,” Dance says, and resumes licking fluid across freckled skin, while Drin chuckles under him.  But he can feel the man’s ass twitch, starting to think about being stretched open for so long.  He reaches down to draw back, intending to grab the condom and pull out.

Drin reaches back, fumbles along Dance’s hip.  “Stay, okay?  Feels good.”

“Okay,” Dance says.

“Where the fuck did you get the idea for that whole amazing story?”

Dance smiles.  “Amalia was telling me to be more inventive, to use imagination, to make both of us think in different sexy stories than what we say at home.”  He spreads out mouth cum along Drin’s neck with his fingers, massaging it into the muscles as if he was using a massage oil.  “Is that feeling okay?”

“It’s totally excellent.”  Drin sighs, and his eyes close.  Then they blink open again.  “But that whole fantasy– how the hell did you guess that would get me rigid that fast?”

“Straight boy porn.”

Drin wheezes a little, laughing.  “Research.  Like Emma.”

“Oh yes.  You like women a lot, I see the way you talk to them, the way you touch them, the way you look at them.  It makes me feel good too, the way you look at Emma.  All warm and turned on and interested.  She needs that, too.  It’s so good, I really like watching you do that.”

“You’re stupid in love with her too,” Drin says, and he’s got a wry grin on his face.

Dance sighs.  “I think so, yes.  You know very well that she would make a truly excellent bitch-boss domme.  Boots, straps, cane–stockings, yes, a garter belt, something frilly at the back, I think–”

“Oh jeez,” Drin says, squinting.

“Yes?  A pretty good fantasy, huh?”

“Not fair,” Drin mumbles.

“I want to turn you over and suck you now,” Dance says.

“You– fucking hell–Jeeez, boy, that’s one helluva hose you’re got up me–”

“Sorry,” Dance says, hanging onto the condom as he drags himself out of Drin’s body.  Then he deals with the mess.  “Hold still, I will wipe you clean.”

“Not fair,” Drin says, with his ass flinching as a warm damp washcloth wipes him clean.

“Okay, that is looking okay.  Good.  Turn over.  Do you want a hand– okay.  Is that okay for your back?  Cushion?”

“No worries,” Drin says, sprawling back, knees apart as wide as the tangle at his ankles will allow.  It’s an Aussie phrase he’s borrowed from Emma.  That’s unfair of him, too.  “You’re really gonna– you are.  Well, damn, that feels good.”

“Good,” Dance says, and he kneels down on the tangle of the man’s pants, with his own pants still pushed down, and he starts licking mouth-cum onto Drin’s left shin, where old scars have left damaged, swollen tissue.  It hurts him when he has been up on his feet for too long.

Drin’s hand flops down beside his knee, and he strokes the top of Dance’s head, threads his fingers into Dance’s hair.  “Guess I should tell you a story while your mouth is all busy.”

“Mmm,” Dance hums in agreement.

“Okay, our little actress doesn’t know half what’s going on in that mansion.  Her boss is a lady in black leather everything with lots of dildos for bad girls.  Her mean boss has a giant mirror.  It’s one-way, with a nice big room behind.  Madam likes to take these poor straight schlubs of clients back there for the show when she has her wicked way with that nice young thing.  Or any of her other girls. And she’s totally pegging all those burly pink boys who work on the grounds, they all beg her for it.  Me now, me now, please Mistress.”

Dance hums appreciatively.

Drin pats his hair.  “But sometimes she throws queer parties, very hush-hush, everybody wearing masks and throwing down their furs to reveal they’re naked underneath, lots of fumbling in corners–it’s all terribly Victorian, all lace and Edward Gorey–”

Dance finds himself smiling, making it harder to keep his tongue moving on Drin.

Drin must be able to feel it, because he pats Dance’s head and goes on, “Now the strapping gardener’s lad gets a lot of attention, you know, lots of oiling up and posing in a jock strap down in the parlor downstairs until he gets to lick the ladies and suck the men off, but there’s plenty of action upstairs too.  There’s a bathtub where the guests can wallow around and get bathed by the footmen in soapsuds, there’s a nursery where the baby contingent get diapered by male nannies and given milk bottles and fucked if they beg for it.  In the kitchen they play with food, the guests get fucked with shortening, or they get sucked off by cooks with nothing on but aprons.  Stop laughing!”

“Hentai?” Dance murmurs.

“Oh yeah– yeah, of course, gotta please the tentacle-kinksters.  Okay, there’s a kinda lab place.  Weird scientist guy has a dark basement room with tanks gurgling for exotic saltwater critters like nautiloids and squid–but no actual octopi, they always crawl out of the tanks and they’re very delicate, way too hard to keep–”

Dance has to pull back for a moment to let the giggles escape.

“–I mean, he really is trying to get his own work done, between these tiresome visits by sex kinksters, but darn it, that’s who pays the bills, even when they do kick over the test tube racks sometimes.  Anyway, he doesn’t use any real animals for sex.  No, he has lots of floppy silicon toys in wild colors that he coats in really thick lube, no matter where he sticks it into you.  Yeah, when he’s upstairs on display for regular days, this poor guy is doomed to fuck busty girls with teeny little silicon toys that make them scream.  The voyeur clients love that–I mean, have you heard those girls screaming in hentai anime?  It’ll burst your eardrums.  Jeez, you’re laughing again.”

Dance quiets himself by spluttering into Drin’s knee.

“I mean, that’s all upstairs straight stuff, by the mirror.  Our skinny lab-coat guy is downstairs for queer parties.  He spends hours on end servicing kinky queers in his very own lab with his silicon toys, like the octopus arms.  And none of them appreciate how much work went into being accurate about the number of suckers on the giant squid arms.  You’re not laughing again, are you?  He’s quite an artist with the silicon, you know.  He can let the twinks crawl up under that lab coat and suck him all day, too, he never gets off on it.”

Dance mumbles a sympathetic noise into Drin’s calf muscle.

“Yeah, poor guy.  He is seriously lusting after one of Madam’s more interesting employees.  But his love is not requited, of course.  He pines after a heroic-looking artist’s model who turned out to be transgender, and she sits all naked and elegant in an artist’s atelier with a couple of dykes in bike leathers and a few men in gowns who are transvestites. They pose for guests, they have these very slow beautiful orgies together, until the dykes get impatient with the whole thing and fuck everybody very hard with strap-ons.”

Dance makes a surprised noise.

“Yeah, me either.  I really wouldn’t mind getting pegged by a big tough bike-riding dyke with a strap-on, would you?  But you know it’d never work out, she’d never settle down with some nice boys like us.  She’d get bored and she’d always be running around to bars and getting in fights and having to find new jobs.  Which is why the transgender gal will never pick any one of the dykes Madam brings for her to look over.  Yeah, there’s probably way too many tattoos going crazy there.  Madam likes to hang up all this artsy erotica, like photographs where you can’t make out which body part belongs to who– yeah, there’s a gallery, too.  A gallery of parts fucking other parts in closeup.  Peppers and tomatoes getting it on.  Are you laughing?”

“Never,” Dance says solemnly, and resumes licking.

“Right.  So, this transgender model doesn’t even notice how the scientist guy might wear glasses and look funny but he’s an expert on making sex toys and he is really quite strong from hauling around tanks and changing water all the time–”

“Shortsighted,” Dance says solemnly, which makes Drin laugh instead.  When Drin is done spluttering, Dance goes back to licking the man’s other knee.

“So every day at breakfast, our scientist guy has to look at Madam’s pictures of this beautiful object of lust who doesn’t want him, and he starts to hate the whole idea of oatmeal, and he even hates having to go get coffee.  I think I better stop talking about him, you keep laughing at him, it’s really very heartless and cruel of you.”

“Sorry,” Dance mumbles.

“I should think so.  Well, poor guy, he’s only happy when he gets to hang out upstairs with his friend the Professor, who has a lewd picture gallery and illegally stolen Indian sculptures where you can’t even tell how many people came to the orgy.  Oh yeah, and a lot of Greek pottery plates with really elegant whorehouse pictures of older men with boys.  The Professor brings in all those rich posh undergraduates who wanted to learn Latin for the naughty bits.  Hey, it’s not that funny!”

“It is, Drin!  But does the Professor–” Dance trails off uncertainly.

“Oh, he picks out twinks among the queer party guests, all legal age, students.  He only likes them in real academic gowns, too.  He feels them all up first, lubes them up, jacks them off, each one in turn.  Then he picks out two of the weediest, skinniest, youngest-looking kids in the lot and sucks one off, while he pets the other one a lot.  Then he lets that one screw the daylights out of him.  He likes getting done in front of everybody, but he doesn’t mind going into his office and getting done on top of his desk, either.  Those skinny little guys have the most stamina, he’ll get the best ride.”

“No punishment first?” Dance asks, stroking his wet fingers along the inside of Drin’s thighs, shifting his hands up toward the man’s hips.

“Oh, they have a proctor for the undergraduates who are begging for that, he switches them a good number of times and makes them lick his boots before he lets them sit on the Professor’s lap for a good fondling.  The Professor tells them they’ve been naughty and makes them wear a big butt plug that sticks out the back of the gown so everyone knows they got switched.”

Dance slides his fingers in the damp fluid he’s licked onto Drin’s knees.  The drip from his sinuses is steady enough that he could start coating both the man’s thighs with it.  “Does Madam punish them for being bad boys?”

“Yes, but she delegates that job to her pretty gardener boys.  The students get whacked off by her staff, they’re not interesting to her.  Not enough of a challenge.  She only takes over on the odd ones, the disabled ones, the truly horrible-looking ones, what you might call the neglected ones.  She likes to take her time with them, study them, trace out how their personal issues work with their kinks.  Those guys, they love her.  Downstairs, where Madam presides during her leather parties, there’s a caning room and a rope suspension room and she’s hired the local leather club.  Lots of bulky tops like Madam’s butler, a very stern bald guy who’s all muscle under that suit and really strict with his subbies–I mean, all these plump Tom of Finland types he picks out to pinch and prod and fuck the hell out of, they never know what hit ‘em– you’re laughing again!”

“You are too funny,” Dance protests.

“Oh, never!  You can never be too funny.”  Drin flips one hand nonchalantly, and strokes Dance’s hair as Dance resumes lapping fluid from Drin’s knees upward.

“Okay, Madam’s dungeon crew make toys, all the toys you could imagine.  But the real attraction is up in the parlor with that mirror.  The blacksmith– are you giggling again?– he’s in an apron and nothing else, the hairy bastard, he’s strapping down frail undergraduates in front of Madam’s mirror, he jams big dildoes up their spoiled pansy asses, and he only lets them come when the other guys watching, the guys wearing those big butt plugs that stick out at the back of their robes, when they have all sucked each other off.  What’s so funny?”  His head pops up, looking at Dance.

“Every student’s wet dream, the way you tell this story,” Dance says, and licks his lips.

Drin reaches down and slides his fingers through Dance’s hair.  “God, look at that mouth of yours.”

“Look at this mouth licking cum on you,” Dance says, and starts licking the ticklish spots at his hip joints.

Drin watches awhile, stroking his hair back from his face, touching his ears, cupping the back of his head.  Mouth cum gleams along the man’s body hair, all across his belly, when Dance lifts his head and says, “When you get me excited, that makes me leak more mouth cum.”

“That’s the idea, yeah.”  Drin grins at him.

“Who makes the blacksmith happy?” Dance asks.

“Oh, well, he loves this beautiful slim curly-haired boy who’s a contortionist and likes to have sex with everybody else first, right in the same room, on display where his daddy can see him  The boy has lots of them at once before he finally lets the blacksmith touch him.  The boy likes to have three guys doing him at once, one for each hole and his dick, and more coming on his back, before he will even kiss the blacksmith.”

Dance makes a sympathetic noise.

“Yeah, but it’s not all sad.  After this boy has got his jaw muscles stretched and his ass fucked wide open, he’ll suck the blacksmith all hard. Then he’ll get in some weird position and sit right down on the blacksmith’s cock, and fuck himself onto it until the blacksmith comes.  Because he knows the blacksmith just loves sliding in all at once, boom, and he’s a pretty thick cock, and the boy gets all stretched open for him by these other guys.”

Dance lifts his head and says, “Such a slut, huh?”

“But he’s got a reason.  The boy likes to get him all jealous and hard and excited from watching his boy performing, getting fucked by all these other men first.  He’s so jealous, you know, he puts these dildos in all these fucking weedy undergraduates after they’ve been fucking his boy where he can see it.  The boy is leaking lube, he’s all stretched open from these other dicks, and then the blacksmith has to cover him and fill him up.  See, his cock is so thick, the boy tells him how much he wants to feel it, his big cock is fucking him the way none of the puny little guys can do.”

“Is that how you like it, all wet decks and stretched for you, like a pirate captain taking the greedy cabin boy after the rest of the crew has fucked him wide open?” Dance asks, spreading a puddle of mouth-cum with his fingers up onto the base of Drin’s cock.

Drin starts to laugh.  “Meanwhile, back at the mansion–”

Dance smiles at him, and purrs, “Pirates.”

“Okay, okay, your pirate captain guy visits every time he’s in town.  He brings Madam stuff like–oh, I don’t know, brandy and sex toys and ex-whores running away from France–but he likes queer parties the most.  He shows off his great big whanger after everybody else fucks his boys.  He always has three of them play with each other for Madam’s mirror.  And the blacksmith’s boy gives the captain’s boys lots of personal attention.”

“For him to watch?” Dance says, spreading cum with his fingers along his husband’s balls.

“Jeez, I keep forgetting you’ve got your hands on some pretty raunchy Internet porn yourself.”

“You were right, though.  Like the pictures, most of it is pretty sad.”  By then, Dance is licking down onto the seam of his husband’s balls, down behind them, then taking the entire sac into his mouth, feeling them twitch and stir.

When he pulls back this time, Drin says, “You do know how to get a guy going.”

“So do you,” Dance says, smiling up at him.  Then he looks at Drin’s cock thoughtfully, looking at how it’s stiffened upward over Drin’s belly, studying how the slit is welling up with runnels of semen, drooling onto the red fur.  It’s impossible for him to tell where it has already mingled with his own mouth-cum on the man’s pubic hair, dripped down onto his balls.

Drin gives a little moan, hips stirring, watching Dance merely look at his cock.  Dance leans one elbow on the table next to Drin’s hip, and lifts the stiffened cock with his other hand, and lowers his face very close to it, not touching.  “I love how you smell.  I want to taste you coming.”

“You want to suck me off bare.”

“I do.”

He hoists himself up on his elbows, looking down his own length at Dance.  “Oh fuck, Dance, don’t look at me like that.  You’re asking if being married to me is enough protection from whatever dumb shit I did when I was younger, even if it’s something they don’t even know to test for yet!”

Dance tilts up an eyebrow.  “This from you, who’s letting me bite you when we don’t even know the least thing about whatever this stuff is–” he gestures at his own face.

Drin flops back on the table, folds his hands under his head, and sighs deeply.

“Drin, those bites went into your muscle, the little holes bleed when I bite you.  Those– whatever they are–when those biting things come out of you, they come out of your muscle and they go back up inside my head.”

The big hands slide around on Drin’s face, scrub at his temples, cover his eyes, press there.  But he doesn’t say anything.  Dance is about to move when Drin lowers his hands at last, and reaches out, and covers Dance’s forearm with his hand.  “I know.  Goddammit, sweetheart, I know.”

“Okay,” Dance says.  He lowers his head, starts licking on Drin’s ribs, nowhere near that much-desired cock.  But he pumps his hand slowly up and down the length of Drin’s shaft.  Drin’s knees stir wider, his grip tightens on Dance’s arm, his hips strain upward, and he turns his head restlessly.

Dance lifts his tongue away, leans in closer on his elbow, and murmurs, “You know something about it, don’t you?”

Drin tugs on his arm, pulls Dance in across him, until Dance consents to lower his weight onto Drin’s body on the table.  Their bellies meet, their cocks rub together.  Drin cups his hands around Dance’s ears, around the back of his head, down onto his neck.  Drin says, “You’re so goddamn fierce sometimes.  I’m just– sometimes I’m not very brave, you know?”

Dance props himself up on his elbows, rocking his hips very slightly, and he looks straight down into his husband’s eyes, waiting.

Drin lowers his eyelids, he looks aside, he fiddles with Dance’s necklace, he strokes Dance’s face in both hands, and finally he lifts his head and kisses Dance on the forehead.

“Like pulling teeth,” Dance says, which is another wry quote from Emma.  He lowers his mouth and kisses his husband on the mouth, deeply.  He finally draws his mouth back, having said what he wanted without any confusion.

Drin’s eyes fill up, glitter.  He blinks hard, and lets Dance lick him on the forehead and the nose and the cheeks, and down onto his neck, and then onto his chest.  “Sweetheart, I told you a long time ago– goddamn bad dreams, right– you saved my life.  You did.  You came down on a belaying line and gathered me up and they hauled us both in, and that’s all– that’s all I could say, for a long time.”

“Mmmhhm?” Dance goes on licking his nipples.

“How could I tell you that you– I couldn’t say a damn thing before– before this happened– but I always–”  He gives a little groan.  “Dance, I dreamed you bit me, just like you did tonight.  Oh God, Dance, you bit me and it made all the pain go away.  I was fucking dying of burns, Dance, and you bit me, and made it all go to sleep.  I was never, ever afraid of you biting me.  Never.”

Dance tilts his head.  “You knew all this?  And you never–”

“Hell, it’s this recurring dream, we know none of the equipment is really there in Afghanistan– not the way I saw it was– those fucking damn bees, and the bugs– who knew what parts were real?”

“Mmm,” Dance says, and resumes licking the man’s chest while he thinks about it.  He nudges Drin’s nipples into tight points, pulling on them gently.  It makes Drin’s cock stir against his, makes it twitch and stiffen harder.  He lifts his head.  “And the bees?  You said you told bees where to go.”

“Oh yeah.  Hell.  If anybody knows how to command bees, it’s probably classified so deep we’ll never fucking find out.”  Drin’s belly heaves a deep sigh against Dance’s weight.

Dance rocks his hips gently, aware that the table is very sturdy but even it might have trouble under their combined weight plunging around.  He’s feeling a bit ridiculous, with his pants tangled around his ankles and his knees losing purchase on the table between Drin’s thighs.  But then Drin puts down his big hands and grabs Dance’s butt muscles and hauls him up higher.

“Slippery,” Drin says, hanging onto Dance’s butt, with some of his fingers digging in, already halfway to sliding inside Dance’s hole.  Dance rocks his hips up, pushing up into that grip, rocking downward to push his cock against Drin’s.  “Easy, sweetheart, I’ve been giving your ass a hard time the last few days–”

“I like it,” Dance growls.

“Uh huh.  And you want to suck me bare.”

“Oh yes.”

They rock together a moment, making the table creak.

“Are you afraid of my– my teeth– biting your cock?”

Drin chuckles.  “No.  Oh hell no.  But I’m afraid I’d never come down again from that kind of high.  Or I’d never want to.”

“I’d think your mouth would feel it even more–” Dance pushes hard with his hips, takes the man’s mouth, delivering over the drool sleeting down the back of his tongue.  He paints the inside of Drin’s mouth with it, and feels the man’s ribs move, breathing harder, deeper.

He puts down his hands, pushes himself up, lifts his weight off Drin’s chest.  Then he slides off the table, stands up, and grips Drin’s cock firmly on both hands, and looks down at him, waiting.  “Roll on your side.”

“What?  Why?” Drin says dazedly.

“I’m going to bite your ass.  That’s where I should– where I know– where you need me to bite this time.”

Drin pushes himself up on one elbow, staring at him.  “You’re really– Right.  Okay, if you’re sure.”  And he turns, pulls up one knee, belly muscles drawing tight, cock bobbing stiffly onto the table.

Dance reaches down, pumps the man’s cock a few strokes, leans down, and starts licking Drin’s hip, and then down onto the meat of his buttock, and with his other other hand pushes up under that muscle, pushing it into his wide mouth.  There’s the click! in his head, and he’s spasming, locked in place with his jaws hung wide open, his front teeth not biting closed at all.  Something in his sinuses pulses, and the pressure drains from his head in huge sucking bursts.

“Ahh, there–yeah, that’s good, don’t worry, it doesn’t hurt at all,” Drin murmurs, and his hand fumbles around and strokes Dance’s arm.  The man’s body relaxes under him, and he gives a little happy sigh.

There’s a barely perceptible release somewhere inside Dance’s head, that click, and then he’s free to move his jaws.  He presses his lips down on Drin’s butt muscle, kisses it, lifts his head.  Then he licks across the wounds he’s just made.  At least this way there’s no bruises from his regular teeth.

“Okay,” Drin says, and slowly rolls onto his back.  “Wow.  Just… any time you want, you just… That was… really nice.”

Dance looks down at the man’s cock, and up again at his face.  A hard pulse throbs down in his own groin, making demands.

“You want it?” Drin asks.

“I want it,” Dance says.

“Take whatever you want, sweetheart.  Anything you want.  Suck me bare, yeah, you’re right.  Biting me, you’re already getting exposed to my stupid germs.”

Dance looks at him.  “You’re not just saying that because biting made you too happy?”

“Well, it makes me think I’d really like getting sucked, but if you’d rather do something else–” he shifts his knee, offering to roll around in other positions.

“No, this,” Dance says, and starts licking the man’s cock.  Puts his mouth down on it, gets the taste onto the back of his tongue.  Those drooling spots flare hotly in his mouth, making things pulse like his cockhead, and he groans.   He draws up again, gets his hand onto the shaft of Drin’s prick, pumping it.

“Yes, oh God please yes,” Drin says, chest heaving.

Dance works his tongue around the tip of it, gets his lips wrapped around it, and pushes it in as far as he can, until his nose is pushing down into wet pubic hair. Get that taste of musk and salt and Drin down into his throat.  There’s another ecstatic throb from those tender spots on his upper palate, and he moans, bracing out his feet, and he starts bobbing his head up and down, thrusting it in, pushing the tip up against those drooling spots.  He wraps his hands around Drin’s hips, gets his hands down onto the man’s butt muscles, grips them so he can work with the rhythmic clenching of the body working under him.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck oh, oh,” Drin gasps, his gut heaving in and out with each breath.  “Oh God, I’m coming, I’m going to– “

“Mmmmmm,” Dance hums, holding it in place against those tender spots, feeling fluid spurting, the man’s penis stuttering into him, pushing into his palate, shoving into his throat.

Drin’s body holds that position, arched up, belly taut, for a long time.  Then he grunts, his hips jerk, and he falls back panting.  The man’s body finally relaxes, the butt muscles slacken, his knees sprawl limp.  One hand flops wide on the table.  His belly balloons and caves with each breath.

Dance resumes sucking him gently, finally sliding off his cock and licking those mingled fluids down onto the man’s gut muscles and onto the cords of his thighs at his hip joints, returning over and over to lick and suckle at his husband’s penis.  It is oddly intimate, feeling the rigid penis slowly soften, the skin crinkling.  His balls slacken very gradually too.

“You…” Drin says.  “God, you weren’t fooling… what you wanted… that’s a helluva thing, Dance…”

“Not ticklish yet?” Dance asks.

“No, I just… I’m just floating off, man… best of all possible worlds.”

“I think so,” Dance says, deeply pleased.  He surveys the supine state of his beloved.  He worries that the bite marks might hurt like hell in a few hours, considers distractedly whether it would do the slightest bit of good to put some antiseptic on them, and takes himself firmly in hand.  “Drin,” he says.

“Yeah?’  Drin turns his head, blinking.

“You said you wanted me to show you how I jack off, but you’ve seen me do it.  Why now, what’s different?”

Drin’s eyelids relax.  He smiles.  “Everything’s changed, sweetheart.  C’mere, let me touch you, get my hand on your balls while you make that man of yours happy.  Not so little, either.”  His touch is as languid as he is, brushing up and down Dance’s belly and thighs, cupping his balls and sliding fingers up behind them, stroking lightly into his ass, then pushing his palm firmly onto the head of Dance’s cock.

Dance leans on the table, leans into Drin’s supporting hands, crawls right up onto him and pumps the tip of his cock into Drin’s leg, groaning.

“Yeah, sweatheart, I know, I know you like to be held when you come, it’s good.  C’mon, give it to me, let it happen, just let it go and lose it for me.”  He hugs those long arms around Dance, kisses his forehead, and slides one hand under him, cupping all of his cock and balls and jerking it in his big hand.  Dance shudders and feels Drin’s fingers finally, finally stroke it out of him, and he groans, and he comes, at long fucking last.

“You know, these damn beach hikes are so tiring,” Drin murmurs, and strokes his hair.

Dance huffs out a laugh.  “Hard on your back, too.”

0 thoughts on “Morning Has Broken”

  1. Whoo boy.

    Talon: You know, you’d be surprised what happens when someone in power decides it’s time to decommission a tool. Sometimes, it blows up in their face – which is messy and frustrating and, ultimately, not a big problem once clean-up is completed. But sometimes it goes missing, gets wind of the problem and removes itself from the situation. And then the real trouble begins. Fancy that.

  2. 0_0 Well, I’m glad someone is at least having some sexing fun.

    OT, but:

    My neck totally knows how Dance’s back feels, yeah? Damned slipped disc. I have to pop it every few hours, sometimes more often, or it stiffens up.

    So I’ve got all sorts of empathy for Dance, right now.

    Also, I kinda want to break out the old Super Sculpey and try making a tail that would work for him. Because HOT.

  3. He’s a bit grumpy about it. I daresay Drin has gotten pretty good on the massage thing too, between Emma and Dance…

    Ho Shit.
    *She* has back spasms too.
    Has since she got there.
    Shuuuuit.

    And I’d love for you to break out the Sculpey and do that thing, too!

    I was thinking I should borrow some of my nephew’s more convincing rubber snakes and make with the suggestive pix.

    Can you imagine a shot where you see his back when he’s asleep in bed, halfway covered by the quilt, but there’s just a little tip flopped out from under the bed quilt, the same color as the fabric?

    Or curled lightly round the bed post, and shaded into the same color?

  4. PS–I sympathize on the neck, and good luck with it. I myself have to be careful who I let work on me because unskilled will provoke worse knots and not persuade them out.

  5. **is appalled**

    Christ, that’s what you were being stoic about, in the car…

    Should have said something – I have years of training as a bodyworker – not saying I could have made a real dent in things, but prolly could have helped youuuuuuuu

    argh

  6. Are you implying that Dance’s, um, gear, has chameleon propensities?

    Is it okay to say that this is wildly cute?

  7. Yeah, and today’s the first *I’ve * heard about it either!

    How come I’m the *last* one round here to know anything, huh?
    Huh?
    I know, you thought I was kidding about the bit where you run after the characters and try to get the story.

    I’m not sure if it’s good news exactly or not, but I did get a request for more nekkid Dance pix from JudyNemesis over on Condoll and posted some more pix. I doubt it’s going to make some critics happy, but hey, you learn more from them than from unmitigated praise, so it’s all good.

    Hmm.
    Still thinking about the rubber snake for shoots.

    And Emma.

    And maybe a lovely little pic of two tails entwined, when they’re not thinking about it.
    Shiiiit.

  8. Ah, it’s been this way since I was…16? 17? Don’t remember – whenever I got in that car wreck. It doesn’t really bother me, like. Just has to be popped. And sometimes if I sleep weird, it can be not cool. But generally, it’s fine. ^___^

  9. Oh jeebus. I don’t even know where the Sculpey IS, anymore.

    We’ll have to see if this goes anywhere. Maybe a different material- carving out of wood is easier, for me- more durable than the Sculpey, too, better able to stand up to elastic tension.

    Oh jeebus.

  10. Yeah, that was the problem I was having.
    If there’s a skeletal structure with a skin over it, what’s the skin?
    If it’s a hollow large bead of resin like a doll’s limbs, or similar, Apoxey comes to mind, then how to handle the jointing, and so on.
    I know there was a really nice art project post using the Little Mermaid Disney version on DOA, but the jointing there was pretty obvious.

    And those examples of fish scale paints I posted awhile back? So not making this easier to ignore/postpone/ just tell it to go away.

  11. And when it needs popping, it’s odd, for me. Neither an ache or an itch, but something fo both. If I ignore it, than pain. In my case, it’s on divers bits like forearm and collarbone.

  12. Hates to tell you, but I gots me some Sculpey. Not an industrial sized tub of it, though, just the little bricks.

  13. If Dance twirls his tail around the bedpost and it changes color to match, I realize I’m taking my life into my hands to say it, but he might end up as an extra adorable Lolcat if he is not careful.

    **is killed by military-grade adorable**

  14. I’m thinking you must mean JennyNemesis, our beloved Strangeways location wrangler and devious procurer of Kaffee mit Schlag. XD

    Nekkid Dance pics are over there now? @_@

  15. **simmers**

    YAH RIGHT SO FINE >8-[

    For many years, I had a golf ball-sized knot in my lower back on the left side, with complimentary golf ball-sized knot in my neck (same side). One or the other or both would go off throughout grad school. Right around 1999, the spasms would get so bad I couldn’t walk. Started aikido in early 2000 and it sorted all that stuff out nicely. Nowadays, I can feel the muscles gear up to go into a freak-out, but I have a lot of early warning and ways to approach that kind of tension now.

    Very, very different from a slipped disc or other injury.

  16. Erm.
    Um.
    You’re right, of course. (I daresay you get tired of being right too.)

    Or there may be a peculiar kind of (delicate shudder) tentacle sex involved.
    Or both at once.

    Which could get very, very weird.

  17. You certainly could, if you can think out some kind of skin to cover it.
    There probalby is something that’d look great, it’s just a question of figuring out wht it is. Some of the mask-making people who do facial prosthetics might know, though their stuff doesn’t have to be durable like resin is.

  18. Ultimately, yes, but original causes both wear and tear and allowing muscles to get unfit for a task. I had to catch something quickly in one case, overstraining deltoids and other shoulder muscles with a load that was too big for me.
    I get unfit very rapidly now I’m older, which is odd. I have wimpy flexible joints. My right radius tend to migrate forward into the base of the thumb and jam it in a way that looks like carpal tunnel but would not be cured by surgery. I also have a collarbone that drifts out of place and hunching over my desk makes my trapezius go nuts over long enough time spans.
    I was lucky enough to run into physio help from Dr. James at SF & F conventions twenty years ago, and to receive some shrewd advice on what was wrong with me. James was then both a filker known for dinosaur songs and a really good physical therapist who worked with patients of chiropractic doctors who knew something about what they were doing.

  19. Ouch!! This doesn’t…hurt. It just gets hard to move. I won’t be able to turn my head, move my back around too much, look up and down, until I crack it and…re-align stuff, I guess? Dunno. Mom’s chiropractor took a look at it and said it was a slipped disc, and that I probably ought to get a referral to see someone about it. That was years ago. I never got around to it, mostly because I’m a stupid young person and still think the wear & tear will never catch up to me. ^_~

  20. Well, maybe. Or I’ll die young – either option works, though I’m hoping it ends up being the “time fixes it” one. ^_~

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