Stages

One: After the Show

The last encore of the night was always the hardest. Black’s energy peaked, sweat pouring as he struggled to keep his slippery fingers on the bass’ strings. For a moment his mind went out, into a realm where nothing exists but electricity — in his spine, in the guitar — and deafening waves of music. The girls writhing in the front row felt it, too. Their white breasts, masked in filmy black, shook in time to his hands on the strings. He howled his last lines before the lights went up and too soon the applause and screams died.

Black waved, tossed sweat-slicked picks into the crowd. He smiled at two girls pressed against the stage. He had rituals, ways of letting the roadies know which ones he wanted backstage after the show: if he leaned close to them, or let them sing, they were chosen. Tonight it was twins, hair dyed the deepest amethyst, eyes like amber stones. He felt familiar warmth in his groin picturing their hot, milky skin sliding across him.

Backstage was a tiresome maze of band mates, roadies, managers, fans, radio personalities, industry goons. Tonight was a big city night, probably fifteen thousand in the crowd. It seemed there were that many in the green room alone. He wanted to blow them off, bury his face in twin pussies (would they look the same? taste the same?), but he couldn’t disappoint the fans. He painted a smile on his face and dove in.

“Great show tonight, man.” A skinny kid in torn jeans shook his hand. He wore a t-shirt bearing the band’s name. It was at least five years old.

“Thanks,” Black said. “Nice shirt. That one’s practically an antique.” He signed a piece of cardboard the kid clutched in his outstretched hand.

It was always, “Great show.” Never, “That show sucked,” or even “That wasn’t one of your best performances.” He knew they weren’t all great. He shook his head, handed the kid his autograph, moved on.

Black was buffeted by bodies, all of them wanting a taste of this notorious rock star. Nearly six and a half feet tall, shock of long black hair, dirty mouth and a penchant for posing naked in raunchy magazines: Who could live up to it? Why? Because these people loved it? Black sneered.

Girls asked him to autograph their breasts, and other places. They were all so pale, pale like something buried too long. His songs were like that too, dark and frustrated, clots of anger and melancholy bled live on stage. He wanted to feed those girls, take them out into the daylight, but he wanted to do other things to them more.

Finally Black reached the other side of the green room. The purple twins waited, speaking to each other with their eyes. Twin-speak. He reached long arms around their tiny waists, crushing the lace of their dresses. He leaned down and kissed one on her neck, then the other, his mouth hot on their chilled skin. Then a three-way kiss, their tongues slipping over his, and he grew hard in his jeans.

He led them down the garishly-lit hall to his dressing-room door.

“Wait here,” he said, opening the door slightly. “I want to make sure it’s presentable.” He slipped through the door.

Soft light came from a lamp in the corner, covered with a sheer red scarf. So at first he didn’t notice the shape perched on the edge of the sofa, head down. But as he took a step forward, the shape moved and he froze.

“Who are you? Who let you in here?”

Then he looked. Really looked. Black cowboy boots, gold snakeskin pants so tight they looked painted-on. Endlessly long legs. Then the gorgeous white ermine coat and a shock of pale, creamy skin underneath. Showers of golden hair fell across the shoulders, down the ermine. Black wanted to knot his hands into that hair.

The figure on the couch tilted its head up revealing blue eyes, too large for the delicate face, rimmed with kohl. Black gasped at sharp line of the cheekbones, the swoop of the jaw, the pale lips. Those eyes looked straight through him as the figure on the sofa began to rise. And rise.

Fully extended, this specter was a full six foot three, almost eye to eye with Black. He was accustomed to bending and stooping. Heavy bootsteps as the person came closer and Black could feel the hot breath on his neck, smell the animal smell of sweat beneath fur.

“H-have you been waiting long?” Black asked.

The blond head shook no as Black pressed one of his hands to its cheek, feeling bones like birds’. He found the bristle of whiskers, the skin of a man who has not shaved recently enough. The man leaned up and kissed him full on the mouth, then pulled back to search Black’s eyes.

“Aren’t you … ” Black sucked the kiss from his lips.

“Bastian.” His voice was worn, harsh. Bastian had once fronted a band, disappeared from the public eye, then returned to sing on Broadway. Black had heard rumors that Bastian had gained 50 pounds and skin that showed his age. The beauty in the dressing room buried those rumors.

“What are you doing here?”

Bastian stepped away, paced. “Didn’t you know I’m a fan? I’ve talked about you sometimes, in interviews.” He ran his finger along the back of the chair.

Black shook his head; he didn’t know.

“I meant to surprise you,” Bastian said.

“What do you want?”

“Whatever you want.” Bastian’s eyes were electric.

Black had never been with a man. He had sung scathing songs swearing he never would. But then, he had never lived up to his own persona, had he? Something in him, loosened by the stage’s intoxication and those kisses outside the door, fluttered eagerly. He felt no resistance.

“Just a moment.” Black went to the door. “Just one thing, then I’m yours.”

He cracked the door, put his head through. The twins clutched each other’s hands. “Sorry, girls. Something’s come up.” They pouted, but he kissed each one goodnight, sucking their tongues into his mouth. They even tasted purple.

Black closed the door behind him, hard. He turned the lock.

Bastian came behind Black, hands searching under his sweat-soaked t-shirt. Black let him remove it, turned and buried his face in Bastian’s hair. Bit at the soft flesh of Bastian’s shoulder. Felt the fur, ermine and human, breathed deeply his musk.

Bastian’s hands slid over his back. Black’s mouth traced the curve of Bastian’s neck, under the throat, found his mouth, hot and hungry. Black pushed the fur from Bastian’s shoulders, let it puddle on the floor. He took Bastian’s shoulders, led him toward the sofa. Black sat. Bastian looked down, eyes greedy, then knelt on top of the coat.

Black unbuckled his belt, heat rising on his skin. Inch by inch he pulled the strap free, running its rough underside across his chest as Bastian watched, mouth parted, hands clasped between his thighs.

He is so lovely, Black thought.

Black leaned down, cinched Bastian’s wrists with the belt. Tight enough he couldn’t escape, not so tight he’d lose circulation.

“Is that all right?”

Bastian nodded.

“Is this okay?”

“Yes.” Bastian’s tone suggested it was more than okay.

Black kissed Bastian again, found Bastian’s mouth more giving than a woman’s. Harder. He pinched Bastian’s nipple, felt him shudder. Pinched harder and Bastian gasped sharply, moaned. Black got to his feet, unbuttoned his jeans, let his erection tumble out. It ached with blood.

Bastian’s parted mouth grew wider at the sight.

“May I?” It wasn’t a question Black was used to hearing.

With one hand Black eased his penis into Bastian’s wide and waiting mouth, hot and slick with his tongue undulating underneath. Bastian’s lips slid over the length of it. He ran his tongue around the glans, the groove at its base, the long raised ridge under Black’s cock.

Black thought, losing to delirium, that Bastian had possibly done this before.

Bastian’s mouth raced now. Black thrust into him, breathing hard as he braced his hands on Bastian’s shoulders. Without that, his knees would buckle. Too soon the agonizing orgasm pulsed, surging white-hot lightning in his brain, down his spine, into Bastian’s hungry mouth. Bastian swallowed, licking Black’s cock as his shuddering faded.

Black exhaled a long breath and fell back onto the couch, pulled Bastian beside him, untied the belt. Eagerly Black stripped off, knelt naked on the ermine, its softness unbearable under his orgasm-pricked skin. He tugged Bastian’s boots off, unlaced the fly of his gold pants, caught the heat from Bastian’s groin. Under the gold, he was naked and hard. Bastian lay against the white leather.

Black took Bastian’s penis in greedy hands. Another man’s organ in his palm was unexpected. Soft and silken like his own, different in curve and girth. Dark fur betrayed the artificial honey of the hair falling across Bastian’s face. Bastian cried out as Black stroked, leaned down, unquestioningly took Bastian into his mouth.

Black had tasted his own fluids. Bastian’s were sweeter, smokier. Black took Bastian’s length into his mouth, its weight like meat on his tongue. Hundreds of groupies taught Black what he liked; he tried that on Bastian now, felt him writhe. Black stroked Bastian’s scrotum, circled back, further back. Deep cries ripped from Bastian’s throat.

The sound stiffened Black’s cock. He spit into his hand, slipped wet fingers into Bastian’s anus, surprised at the tightness. Felt him relax. Tugged Bastian’s hips to the edge of the sofa, slicked his own penis with pre-cum. He eased his tip of it against Bastian’s puckered opening, felt the man shudder. Black pushed, holding Bastian’s hips, and slipped in to the hilt. Both men gasped.

Someone pounded on the door, sending jolts through Black. Bastian tightened around him, almost hurting.

“I’m busy!” Black bellowed. Fuck off!”

Sorry, man,” came a voice. We roll out in half an hour. See ya.” Footsteps retreated into the jumble of noises outside.

“Fuck,” Black said.

Bastian reached out, twined his fingers in Black’s black hair. Yes,” he said. Now.”

Black’s heart pounded, angry, startled, hot. He rocked his hips, building a rhythm Bastian matched. He looked down, saw himself move in and out of Bastian. He grasped Bastian’s cock, stroked its length. Bastian wrapped long legs around Black’s waist, face flushed, hair knotted. His eyes locked with Black’s, rolled back as pleasure sucked him down.

Black let his thrusts grow shallow then forceful, ran his hands over Bastian’s chest. Pulled Bastian’s long hair back, kissed his collarbones, tore at his nipples. Bastian lay submissive, head thrown back, never asked for anything.

Now Black thrust sharp and deep, jerked Bastian’s cock in time. Black’s whole body went rigid. Bastian tightened around him, orgasm gripping them both in pulses of heat and screams. Black fell to Bastian’s chest, feeling his heart pound inside.

Slowly Black withdrew, drank the semen that had splashed Bastian’s belly. Nearly slept in the bowl of Bastian’s still-heaving flesh.

Black glanced up, started to speak.

Bastian raised his hand. “Don’t say anything. You need to leave soon.”

“When can I see you?” Black said, helping Bastian find his clothes. “We’re playing tomorrow night.”

“I know.” Bastian laced his pants and pulled the ermine around him. Black absently dressed, studied Bastian.

“Will you be there?”

“I don’t know.” Bastian pressed his mouth to Black’s. “But you will see me again.” Bastian smiled, easing himself out the door.

Two: Leather Interior

Black slammed his pick against the strings, let the hum overtake him. His rage built, felt his bandmates angry too. A bottle narrowly missed his head and clattered to the stage near the drum riser. Black sneered, spitting out the last lyrics.

San Francisco, always passionate: they loved you or hated you, always let you know which. The audience had come to see a band that night, but not Black’s. Their boos and shouts drowned the music. Black mouthed let’s go” to the others, pulled the bass strap over his head.

Good night,” he snarled into the microphone, kicking it over. Black stormed from stage, handed off his bass, wrapped a towel around his sweat-drenched neck. He downed a beer quickly, wishing it was bourbon.

Was it something I said?” He asked no one in particular.

“Shitty crowd,” a roadie said, passing through the room. Sorry, man.”

“We’ll survive. Hell, we’ve seen worse.”

“No we haven’t.” Johnny, the drummer, was splayed across a sofa.

“What about that time in west Texas?” Black asked.

“That wasn’t a crowd,” Johnny said.

“Three drunk guys at the bar isn’t a crowd,” Ken said.

The room fell to silence. Anyone in the green room?” Black asked.

The roadie shook his head. If you’ve got fans in San Francisco, they all had to stay home tonight.”

Well, that’s it, isn’t it? Let’s go,” Black said.

They gathered themselves, headed to the bus. Black’s manager stepped in, stopping him.

Someone’s sent a car for you,” he said, pulling Black aside. Over here.”

A black limousine, glittering like liquid, waited behind the bus. They’ve arranged for you to get to the next stop. I suppose we’ll see you there.”

“Give me five minutes. If I don’t come out, don’t wait.”

Black pulled his hands through his hair, smoothed his jeans. He walked to the limousine. When he reached the door, it opened from inside. Without looking he slid in.

It was dark behind the tinted glass, no streetlights shining down. He smelled cigarette smoke and something like strange cologne.

As his eyes adjusted, he saw a shape opposite him, legs crossed and clad in black leather. The figure leaned forward, the face moved into what little light there was. The deep pools of those blue eyes stirred his memories. Bastian.

It had been more than a month. Black had nearly given up, now studied Bastian fiercely. His honey hair was a mist in the darkness, his pale features lined by deep shadows. Black had known many lovers since that fervent night, but none sated his need for Bastian’s touch.

Black knelt on the floor, cradled Bastian’s face in his hands. Kissed him softly, then deeply. Bastian tasted of bourbon and tobacco; Black’s cock hardened at the flavors. Without breaking free, Bastian knocked on the black glass separating them from the driver. The car glided smoothly into the shimmering San Francisco night.

“Why are you here?”

“I knew you were in town,” Bastian whispered.

“You didn’t see the show, did you?”

“No, I was taking care of some business. Why?”

“They booed us off the stage.”

“What happened?”

“We walked out. The audience didn’t want it. Neither did we.”

“Bastian grinned. We had some hellish shows. We look back on them and laugh. But I never walked off. You can’t hardly shoot me off the stage once I get going.”

Black smiled.

“Want a drink?” Bastian asked.

“Please. Make it hard.”

Bastian pulled out a bottle of Old Portrero, poured a few inches into a glass and handed it to Black. Let his fingers linger over Black’s.

Black tasted the sweet rye, felt it turn to vapor on his tongue. It burned his tension away. Black drained the glass, set it down.

“Thanks. But I prefer the way it tastes on you.”

Black grabbed Bastian’s waist, pulled him closer, kissed him fiercely. Bastian answered, taking his teeth to Black’s lips, his neck. Tugged the shirt from Black’s body. Kissed his way to Black’s nipples, biting one and twisting the other with hot fingers.

Black growled. Grabbed handfuls of Bastian’s hair. Bastian was already working Black’s boots off, undoing the fly of his jeans. Soon Black was naked with Bastian kneeling before him.

Bastian drizzled bourbon onto Black’s chest. Drank from Black’s body. Black shivered at the Bastian’s hot tongue and the cool air that followed. Black’s swollen cock made him feel naked, exposed.

“I’m the only thing you need. Upon your blood I feed,” Bastian crooned.

“That’s one of my favorites.” Black gasped as Bastian’s mouth closed over his penis. Ohh.”

Black slid down the seat, sunk his teeth into the leather beside him. Bastian took him all the way in. Black bucked, demanding release. Just as he threaded his fingers into Bastian’s hair again, Bastian pulled away.

“Oh, no you don’t. You’re not getting off that easily.”

The car sped faster, lights flashing across them.

Bastian sat across from Black, smiling languorously. He tugged off his own boots, worked the fly of his pants. Toyed with the zipper, pulled it down, up, down again. Writhed in the seat, slowly pushed his waistband down. Black moaned. Bastian’s cock fell free. He arched his hips.

Black rose, but Bastian stopped him with a hand. Don’t you move. Not yet.”

Bastian stroked himself slowly, cock tumescing. The men locked eyes, Bastian’s blue depths pouring cold flame. Time stopped. Only Bastian’s hungry gaze, only Black’s desire.

Bastian’s hands moved faster.

Black flushed, his breath broke to pieces. Whispered. “Please. I’ll do anything.”

“Come here.” Bastian moved back and spread his legs. Sit here, in front of me.”

Black did, facing away. Bastian mouthed the nape of Black’s neck, reached for his stiff nipples. Felt Bastian reaching away, then hands down Black’s back.

“Lean forward.” Bastian’s mouth was inches from Black’s ear.

Black folded over, flinched as Bastian’s slick fingers entered him. Exhaled. Not pain, not pleasure, something else. Bastian’s caresses woke nerve endings he’d never known. Black shuddered as Bastian sunk more deeply, thought he might start to cry. He gasped.

Bastian slid to the floor, leaned on Black’s back. Are you OK? We don’t have to,” he whispered.

Black sobbed, but no tears came. Yes. Yes.”

Bastian worked his fingers slowly in and out. Reached around, took Black’s organ, rubbed it firmly. Shocks of pleasure washed through Black. He held still, let Bastian create the joy and ache riding inside him.

“I want you.” Bastian was hoarse now. Black felt Bastian’s cock pressed against his back. “God.”

“Please.” Black had never pleaded before.

Bastian withdrew his fingers, lowered Black onto his organ, clutched Black’s chest. Black turned his head, sucking Bastian’s lips into his mouth. Black pushed deeper, dying to be filled.

Bastian’s hands reached Black’s penis, stroked him with the drumbeat of their bodies. Black pulled Bastian’s hips, sinking him further. The lights of cities whirled past the foggy windows. Black felt dizzy, drunk. Leaned back again, rested his head on Bastian’s shoulder, bucked harder. Screamed.

Black whispered lines from Duran Duran’s “The Chauffeur.” Heat poured from him, his breath fast now, Bastian’s face sweat-slicked. Black’s hair swam on Bastian’s chest in black rivulets.

Black felt his pulse quicken, surge in his groin. “Bastian, I’m –”

“So am I.”

He thrust hard into Black, hugging close. Black’s consciousness slipped with Bastian’s cock inside him spasming. Someone moaned. Black’s orgasm followed Bastian’s as everything slid away into darkness.

Something cool pressed Black’s face. Bastian loomed over him, all gold light, cold towel in his hand.

“What happened?” Black was folded up on the floor of the limousine, now racing at an incredible speed.

“You passed out.” Bastian leaned down to kiss him. “That ever happen before?”

Black grinned. “No.”

“Can you get up?” Bastian asked.

“Think so.”

Bastian helped him to the seat, wrapped him in a blanket. “Rest a little. We’re almost there.”

“Where?”

“You’ll see.” Bastian pulled him close. Black closed his eyes. The car rocked him to sleep.

“Wake up.”

Someone was shaking him. He opened his eyes. Bastian’s face came into focus. He was dressed now, boots and leather pants and long gray sweater that went to his thighs. He pressed Black’s clothes into his hands.

“Where are we?” It was black outside the windows.

“Get your clothes on. Come on. Take the blanket, it’s cold.” Black dressed quickly, wrapped the blanket like armor around him as Bastian opened the door. Sea air swept into the car.

“Where are we?” Black repeated.

“Sonoma Coast. Duncan’s Landing.”

“It’s the middle of the fucking night.”

“That’s the best time.” Bastian stepped from the car, pulled Black’s hand. “Come on!”

Black let Bastian lead him down the dark, winding trail. The moon was full, its silver light enough to see by. When they reached the sand Bastian ran, vanished into the fog. Black followed Bastian’s laughter, found himself at the water’s edge.

Bastian shouted, thrilling in the cold sea night, stopped when a light snapped on in one of the houses above the beach.

“Oops.” Bastian laughed.

“Here, I want to show you something.” Bastian dragged his feet on the sand.

“What?” Black pulled the blanket closer around him.

“Look down. Look at where my feet are.” He scraped the sand again. Sparkles of blue-green light appeared under Bastian’s toes.

“How did you–”

“Plankton. Makes its own light. Try it.”

Black rubbed his toe in the sand. Glowing dots appeared, then faded. The waves were the same color.

“Is that what makes the breakers light up?”

“Pretty cool, isn’t it?”

Black charged at Bastian, knocking him into the sand. He carried Bastian up the beach, lowered him roughly. Bastian laughed, pulled Black into a kiss. Black laid the blanket on the sand, rolled Bastian onto it, opened Bastian’s fly, freed his penis. It was still cum-sticky.

Black sucked Bastian’s cock gently until it began to grow hard.

“Lay down beside me,” Bastian said.

Black did, took Bastian into his mouth again. He felt Bastian unzip his jeans and suck his penis into his hot, slippery mouth. A circuit of pleasure, stoking the fires that had gone to embers. Black thought he could drink forever the salty taste, so like the air around them. Bastian moaned. Black had only done this twice now. He must be catching on quickly.

Black felt faint again, from fatigue now. The waves pounded the beach. Their slow, undulating pace calmed him.

Soon Black was coming in Bastian’s mouth, drinking Bastian’s liquor. He lay against the sand, felt Bastian button his pants. Bastian cupped close to Black on the blanket. Sleep came.

Black woke to the sun cresting the cliffs, glare stinging his eyes. Bastian snored beside him. Black walked behind a large rock to piss. When he returned, Bastian was up, staring at the sea, wind blowing his tangled hair.

“Morning.” Black’s voice was even deeper than usual.

“Hi.”

“Some night.”

“You’re welcome.” Bastian grinned, stood, brushed the sand from his clothes. “I know you have to get to the next show. We’ll take you to the airport. I already booked you a flight.”

“How did you know I’d come?” Black said.

“I didn’t. If you didn’t, I would have used the ticket myself. Tried you at the next gig. Come on, car’s waiting.”

As they climbed the steep trail, Black wondered how they’d descended it by darkness. Inside the car, breakfast waited. They wolfed it as the driver sped south. Sleep claimed them full-bellied, and they woke to the sound of a knock on the glass.

The San Francisco Airport. Bastian reached into a pocket of his coat, pressed the ticket into Black’s hand.

“Go. Your plane’s about to leave,” Bastian said, sucking Black’s tongue into his mouth. The driver opened the door for Black.

“How can I find you again?” Black broke the kiss.

“You can’t. But I’ll find you.”

Three: Shadows

Her lips drowned Black. She smelled like turned earth and dry leaves, but her body was warm as it pressed into him. Her black hair fell into his mouth, veiled his face. He’d written songs about her, tried to capture her elusive visits. Nothing compared.

Each night he lay naked waiting for her until without warning she was on him. Each time he held her tightly. Each time he woke in the morning and she was gone.

Black embraced her now, her teeth sinking into the curve of his neck. Pain shot through him. She reached her hands between his legs. Her black eyes watched him as she grasped his penis, purpled with blood. He moaned and with both hands lifted her nymph’s body, impaled her.

He lifted her breasts, purple nipples between his fingers. Black hung back, began to thrust. With each motion of his hips, she faded. At his climax she vanished, earth-musk lingering.

Black turned over, closed his eyes. Only the noise of his own breath, still jagged. Behind it a slow sound, a hand moving through water. He lifted his head to listen. Again the sound. He held his breath.

Now dripping, and he was sure. He noticed, for the first time, a sliver of yellow light from beneath the bathroom door. His stomach turned over. He rose quietly, wrapped the sheet around his waist.

He crept to the door. Dripping. So quiet, the noise seemed from a dream.

Black pushed the door. Light flooded his eyes. Squinting, he saw a golden body in the tub, something red spreading like feathers in the water. Bastian, his lover twice, who had promised to find him again.

At Bastian’s wrists were wounds like smooth blood bracelets. He gathered Bastian’s body, limp but alive in the warm water, pulled him free, held him tightly. Like the girl, the tighter Black held, the more Bastian faded, mist and golden light. Gone.

I can’t lose you.

Black’s heart raced as he sat up. Sheets wet, hair soaked with sweat. He forced himself to
remember the vision that woke him.

“Bastian.”

Then Black heard it again, that sound of flesh in water. He saw light cutting a path across the bedroom floor. He smelled smoke.

Black walked a second time to the bathroom, winced at the light. Turned to the tub immediately. Bastian lay in the clear water, steam rising like an offering, head resting on the rim. In one hand burned a cigarette, which he lifted to his mouth and sucked. Bastian
opened lazy blue eyes and smiled.

Black knelt. Touched Bastian’s cheek. “Are you really here?”

Bastian nodded.

“I just dreamed … ”

“What?”

Black shook his head. “Nothing. How did you get in?”

“Your door was unlocked.” Bastian took another drag.

“But how did you get all the way in here?”

“I tried to wake you. You must have been dreaming, because you were oblivious. I gave up.”

Bastian stretched his long legs to the other side of the gleaming tub. “It’s nice.”

“I had it custom-made.” Black smiled. “Men like us don’t quite fit in regular ones.”

“I bet we’d both fit.”

Black climbed over the rim, slid into the hot water, spilling it over the top. Bastian laughed, kissed Black sharply. Black moaned into Bastian, tasted tobacco and chocolate, felt his nightmares fade in warmth and light.

“Missed you.”

“Did you.”

“God yes.”

Black leaned back. Bastian lay across his chest, toyed with Black’s dark hair, closed his mouth over a nipple. Teased with tongue and teeth. Bit sharply and Black shouted. Bastian raised his head.

“Don’t stop!”

Black guided Bastian back to his chest. Bastian closed his teeth on the nub, felt the skin split, tasted blood. He drank it, thinking how much like Black’s other fluids it tasted. Thirsty now. Bastian raised up, showed Black the blood on his lips. Black kissed it away.

Bastian’s hands traveled from Black’s neck to hips, back again, down again. Cupped Black’s testicles. In water they were weightless, pliant. He reached further back, touched a fingertip to Black’s anus, watched Black sink, eyes closed, toward oblivion.

Bastian teased, pressed a finger in to the first knuckle, pulled out again. Black clutched the sides of the tub.

“Let’s move.” Lust choked Bastian’s throat. Black led him to the bed, both dripping.

Blue moonlight flooded sheets strewn from Black’s nightmares. Black pinned Bastian’s wrists to the bed, held himself above Bastian’s body. He wanted to devour him. Split his ribs and crawl inside. He bit Bastian’s ear, grabbed a handful of hair, pulled sharply. Bastian’s eyes were wide. The look stole Black’s violence. Not his passion.

“Where have you been?” Black rolled off, looked out the windows over New York City. “It’s been months.”

Bastian was quiet. Black watched tiny cars pass on Lexington Avenue far below.

“I’m here now.”

“Fuck you.” Black didn’t look at him. “I needed you.”

Bastian crossed the room. Pulled the belt from Black’s pants that hung over the back of a chair. On slow feet he returned to the bed.

“Black, lay down.”

Black reclined on his back without meeting Bastian’s eyes. Bastian threaded Black’s hands through the bars of the headboard, then wrapped them with the belt.

“Is this okay?”

“No.” Black licked his lips. “But I want it anyway.”

He watched Bastian watch him. Bastian paused, eyes electric. Ran his fingernails down Black’s sides, leaving red traces. Drew them down Black’s legs, followed them until his head cradled in the shell of Black’s hip. Tangled his fingers in Black’s fur. With both hands he grasped Black’s penis, lowered his mouth onto it.

Black’s bathed skin tasted sweet. Bastian moaned as he took it in. Another time, Bastian would have joked that his big mouth and Black’s long cock were a perfect match, but for now he let it silence him. He heard Black gasp, heard the belt creak as Black strained against it.

Bastian slid his tongue over Black’s penis. Black thrust into him, felt his throat open, tested Bastian’s willingness. With arms bound, all of Black’s energy was focused in his cock, alive in a sea of slick heat. Black’s body heaved as he came. Bastian let Black’s salt slide down his throat.

“Fuck you.” Black fell limp against the bed. Bastian crawled over him, kissed him deeply, let him taste his own fever. He freed Black’s wrists.

“Turn over.” Black did. Bastian tied his wrists again, smoothed Black’s body, limned Black’s back and buttocks. He took the lubricant from Black’s nightstand, flipped the lid, coated two fingers.

He slid one into Black slowly. When Black did not resist, Bastian moved his second finger in and thrust gently. Bastian’s cock hardened as Black moaned.

“More.”

Bastian added a third finger. Black’s breath shuddered. Moaned louder.

“More.”

Bastian swallowed hard, slicked his hand with lube. He inched a fourth finger into Black, waiting for a sign of pain. It never came. Black panted now, sweat streaking his brow.

“More,” he growled.

“You sure?”

“Fuck you. Yes.”

Bastian withdrew, folded his fingers into a tight cone, reached inside Black again. Black took him in, inch by inch, until Bastian could barely see his wrist. Gently he rocked his hand, letting Black control the moment.

Black strayed into the borderlands beyond pleasure or pain, where he and Bastian locked together. A realm of fire consumed him. Nothing but the blood in his ears, nothing but ecstasy bleeding through his body.

He squeezed his eyes shut, tried to contain the steep tide taking him. Black ceased to be, dissolved, burst apart at the seams. Bastian’s touch remade him, cell by cell, bone by bone, thrust by thrust. His penis ached against the sheets. He moved it instinctively. Bastian’s hand slid inside him with the rhythm of his hips. As his orgasm gathered, Black felt whole again and alive.

He gasped as he came, shuddered to stillness, fell to the mattress’ soft landscape. As Black’s body paused, Bastian slid his hand out.

“You okay?” Bastian stroked Black’s back. Black nodded.

Bastian slicked his own cock, pressed into Black’s prone body. Black let the sensation revive him, no longer weak or dizzy. He tied himself to Bastian’s rhythm, breathing with it.

Bastian raised Black’s hips, rode him. Tugged Black’s hair, slapped his ass. Black no longer felt the cutting leather at his wrists. Only the wind in his hair, Bastian’s hot breath on his neck.

Bastian made a low sound, a command had it been made of words. Black caved completely, wanting nothing more than wet sheets and hot moonlight and the stain he and his
lover were spreading across the sky. Tears filled his eyes, spilled out onto the bed. He was full, full of ache and sweat and confusion and semen. Full of Bastian’s orgasm, pounding through him as searing as his own.

“Black.” Bastian lay over Black’s body, cock still inside him. “You didn’t pass out on me again, did you?”

Black shook his head.

Bastian let Black’s hands free. Put his hands into Black’s hair again, this time gently,
urged him to turn over. Black rolled onto his back, feeling utterly naked. Flayed.

“Do you know what you’ve done to me?”

Bastian knelt over Black. “What’s that?” He looked down into Black’s eyes, still wet.

“Bastian. I can’t keep doing this. I have to be able to find you. I needed you. I thought you would never — ” It was all Black could do not to swear again. Not to beg.

“Tell me how find you. Be with me. Or never come back.” He pulled Bastian to him, kissed him savagely, teeth splitting Bastian’s raw lips. He was every nerve exposed, wanted to hurt Bastian now. Split him in two. Shook the thought from his head.

“You sure?” Bastian wiped blood on the back of his hand.

“Yes.”

Black and Bastian slid easily into sleep, cradled in the sopping sheets. Moonlight turned to dawn and the first rays of sunlight cracked Black’s eyes. When he opened them, he was alone, Bastian’s scent everywhere. He rose and found the tub full of cold water, damp puddles on the tiles. His belt lay at the foot of the bed, knotted and twisted.

On the table by the door a scrap of paper lay, and in handwriting scrawled the words: “Don’t forget me. -S.”

© 2009 Frances Jones

Erotica author Frances Jones was born and raised in the San Francisco Bay Area. Her short fiction straddles the line between fantasy and reality, from the wild trysts between two competing journalists in “Backstory” to the earthy, erotic creature her narrator encounters in “The Wood.” Jones’ stories, borne by experience and imagination, are inspired by everyday people and their not-so-everyday fantasies. Frances is a regular contributing member of the Erotica Readers and Writers Association. Her stories have been published in Honey Flava, Five Minute Fantasies 2 and In Moments of Madness. Online, her stories have been published at Clean Sheets and The Erotic Woman.

She lives in San Francisco with her geeky partner and their four-legged, gray-furred housemate who thinks dead birds are gourmet cuisine. For more information and stories, visit her website.