October 8, 2005

Disclaimer: by request only. Do not archive this story without permission.


"I'm bored," Brian said, lifting his arms to rest against the back of the couch and stretching like a cat. The orange satin shirt rode up and showed an inch of pale, nearly hairless skin. "I'm terribly, terribly bored."

Curt put his cigarette out in a glass of wine from the night before and turned around, kneeling on the floor with one elbow on the seat of the couch. "Yeah?" He tucked two fingers inside the waistband of Brian's jeans. "Lemme see if I can do something about that."

Brian squirmed, but not away, as Curt got the button open and began to tug at the zipper. The room was quiet, crowded with random objects that seemed to eat sound: a ball gown hung across a closet door in a thousand stiff silk folds; a printed Japanese screen zigzagging across one corner, with sixteen swatches of shag carpeting piled up in front of it; the torso of a mannequin draped in several black and purple feather boas and wearing a jaunty sailor cap on the stump of its neck.

All the bottles on the sideboard gleamed, some empty, some full, but their pure glass echo was muffled by the roses thrown down among them, already dying, petals falling everywhere. When Curt licked at Brian's stomach, Brian made a sound that was muffled, too, filtered through the heavy air and stripped of its lightness, like the bleached-out sunshine seeping in through the net curtains. When Curt licked lower, tasting tight jeans and hot skin, Brian squirmed some more, and the quick flutter of his fingers against the couch leather was as eloquent as the scribbled lyrics thrust into his pocket. The paper crackled as he rolled his hips.

A silver bracelet dropped carelessly on the floor glinted in the sunlight. Brian put a hand on Curt's shoulder and tugged, and Curt licked a broad stripe across Brian's belly and flowed up over him, settling astride his legs and grinning.

Brian tipped his head back against the backrest and looked at Curt from under his lashes. "Terribly bored," he said again, hot-eyed and unconvincing, and trailed his hand slowly across Curt's chest, and down, and down, until his palm was rubbing against the taut leather between Curt's legs. He ran his tongue across his lower lip, one quick swipe. "Let's do something... different."

Curt's grin turned wicked. "You'd look beautiful in that dress. Maybe—"

Brian yanked him down and kissed him silent. Even when Curt kicked out and overturned the coffee table, later, it barely made a sound.

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