Full o'Festive Spirits

by Zakarrie C

  “I…” How the hell does he know that? Experience, shit for brains. He’d likely known from the start—and more to the point—saw his latest newbie coming from a mile off. It would be pointless to deny what would soon become all too obvious unless— Dylan should leave. Go home. What the fuck have I been thinking?

  “Here you go…One glass of sir’s favourite tipple. For the road, I suspect.” Gabriel held out the goblet of rum by its stem; full to the brim, backlit bronze, licked by candlelight. When Dylan closed his fingers around its bowl, he glanced up…at a smile so sad it snatched his breath away, and eyes way beyond beautiful; darker…deader than he’d ever seen them before.

  “Gab-riel…” Dylan’s throat seized up, mid-word, then dried up altogether, which seemed a good a reason as any to lift the glass to his lips and gulp at his rum as if it were Ribena.

  “Blimey, I should’ve just given you the bottle and a straw.” Light-hearted words that utterly belied those eyes.

  “Ah…better.” Dylan swiped his sleeve across his mouth, dragged in a jagged breath…and tried again. “Gabriel, d’you want me to go? Knowing that?”

  “No.” One word, an instant reply, without pause for thought. “Either way. Knowing everything, or nothing at all.”

  ‘I love things, or couldn’t give a stuff, I know that instantly. I don’t do deciding about it.’

  F’fucksakes. The context of one couldn’t be compared to the other. At all. Dylan was becoming more ludicrous by the second. I’m a bad influence!? An hour in Gabriel’s company and Dylan was aspiring to be The sodding Snowman.

  “Why?” That had tripped from his far too loosened tongue before Dylan could stop it. What the fuck? On what planet is that an acceptable question for a punter to ask?

  “Why? That’s as obvious now as ’twas a few minutes ago. At the start of this conversation.”

  Dylan’s confusion must’ve been flagged up by his face because Gabriel flicked his gaze downwards again—just as he had before the packing-a-peanut remark—then returned it with an impish twinkle. “As I said, I never do deciding. Dylan, you don’t want to know the rest.”

  His former use of those words may have been more responsible for the fact Dylan stepped forwards, than the version Gabriel had just voiced.

  “I can’t confirm that, unless…I know it.” Dylan took two steps, closing the distance between them…three. They were but a hairsbreadth apart when he lifted his head…and instantly plummeted into pools of liquid longing. “I’m…” he began, but the rest faded away, mirroring the impact of drowning brown on Dylan’s last sliver of doubt.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Gabriel

  “Gabriel, d’you want me to go? Knowing that?”

  Crikey, that rum worked fast on the brain-cell blitzing front. ’Twas the only feasible reason Gabriel could rustle up to explain why the bejeezus Dylan might wonder that. Gabriel had a sneaky suspicion he’d still feel the same, even if those honeyed limbs remained splayed across his sheets long after Dylan had depleted his stash of freebies

  “No,” Gabriel stated. Definitively. “Either way—knowing everything—or nothing at all.”

  There. He couldn’t be any clearer than that. ’Twas tricky being honest when you were living a lie; truth was relative. While his own might share uncanny similarities to rent boy Gabriel’s, they couldn’t be expressed in the same way. His rent-a-truth had to be fandangled to fit his role, which meant; Gabriel had to stay true to a fib. Lie honestly. That was an oxymoron in terms, if e’er there was one. Was an honest lie still a mistruth? Probably? He neither knew, nor cared. It only mattered that the weight of Gabriel’s words wasn’t diminished by whatever window dressing they donned.

  “Why?” Dylan’s question was so unexpected it caught him unawares. So unprepared, Gabriel was left attempting to scrabble up a sentence that might align twin truths. ’Twas easy enough to cite the all-too obvious reason first—which he did while trying to rustle up the rest—but the moment that laser gaze dropped to his crotch, Gabriel knew ’twas futile. He couldn’t finesse a thing in the face of the flush that tinged Dylan’s cheeks a shade almost as rosy as his raspberry ripe lips.

  “I…Dylan, you don’t want to know the rest.” Gabriel sighed, certain that would send him fleeing into the night, as if the very devil himself were hot on his heels.

  “I can’t confirm that, unless…I know it.” Dylan’s voice dropped to a velvet burr that dripped dark intent, as lethal as lightsaber blue.

  Blimey, what’s in that rum? More to the point, what had it done to Gabriel’s oh, so reticent rookie? Sent him swishing Gabe’s way, that’s what. Propelled by sinuous hips after abruptly dispensing with his belly button fluff perusal. Dylan stopped when that very navel was about an exhalation from Gabriel’s flies. Or thereabouts.

  “I…” he began, but the words clattered to a halt in Gabriel’s throat, like a pile up on the M25. A (traffic) jammy side-up happenstance indeed, as it turned out…

  The sudden stillness was succeeded by a rush of air—the sweep of Dylan’s arm to clasp the nape of Gabe’s neck—and lips…lips so luscious they would’ve snatched his breath away, had he any left to snaffle. He’d been robbed of that when a wall of hard heat slammed into him at much the same time; akin to being hit by a hurricane of hungry hips and lusty intent. An arm was wound around Gabriel’s waist to tug him in tight. Mouths, tongue, teeth, clashing in a torrent of hot want so staggering, his legs didn’t seem none too keen on doing their standing thing. The ‘staggering’ had apparently infected those too, as that’s what he appeared to be doing—backwards, bed-wards—but he couldn’t be sure under whose steam. One of Gabe’s hands was clutching lush locks and the other clamped to a ripe cheek; ‘resting’ there, rather than manoeuvring Dylan anywhere. So, it did seem that the taut thighs nudging Gabe’s made his calves collide with the bed; Dylan’s weight bearing onwards that tipped him off balance.

  Down Gabriel went, toppling over like a skittle to wind up flat on his back on the mattress, beneath a sultry onslaught of lean muscle. Their mouths parted but briefly upon impact, afore fusing in a frantic tangle of tongues and fingers in hair. His entire self, straining towards the heavy press of leather and sinewy strength that was Dylan’s body. Achingly aware of every stud, zip and ridge through the soft fabric of his trousers and thin black jumper. Gabriel felt naked in comparison, but nary a smidge as exposed as when Dylan lifted his head and speared Gabe to the bed with a lust-laden blaze of blue.

  “Gabriel. Tell me what you want.” His voice was a husky rasp, but oh, those lips…spit-slick, swollen with kisses.

  “You. Whatever I can have.” A truth spoken with nary a forked tongue.

  “Me…whatever that’s worth.” Fuck.

  ’Tis worth the world. For how long? ’Til you’re done…tonight…until morn?

  “More than you’d believe if I told you.” More than I can allow myself to believe you mean it. “Fuck me, Dylan. If that’s what you want. Please.”

  “It is…but not because—” Dylan’s sentence cut off a mite abruptly when he melded their mouths in a kiss so deranging, Gabriel quite forgot to breathe, let alone care about becauses. Instead, it echoed around his head like the sigh of a seashell held to his ear; becoss-oss-oss… Swirling with the haze of heat and throaty sounds he swallowed as if they were oxygen itself. A tug on Gabriel’s hair tilted his head about a gasp before berry lips smudged across his jaw and clamped to his neck.

  “Ahhh…” He couldn’t stop his back from bowing, nor his hips from straining off the bed. He’d never longed for anything more than what was so close, but so far away. In the world of dreams forever cherished.

  “Gabriel…” That glinty gaze was smudgy-soft when Dylan raised his head and shuffled back a bit afore pushing at the bottom of Gabriel’s jumper. The second his skin was aired, ’twas met by the plush press of lips that smeared across his chest and fastened on a nipple to taunt it with a heady tang o’teeth. Strewth.

  “Dylan, clot
hes, skin…please…” Gabriel scarce knew what tumbled out, ’twas random ramble of wishes that spilled from his lips with no rhyme nor reason.

  After tonguing the nipple free, Dylan planted his palms on the bed to heft himself up onto all fours. Fuck...he was all Gabriel’s most filthy fantasies come true; hair tumbling around his face, the blue ablaze with a world of dark wonder. He looked half-feral, but then, he was still dressed. No matter, it seemed very much as if Dylan had decided to dispense with his civvies, when he pushed himself upright. Kneeling astride Gabriel’s thighs, he yanked down the zip of his jacket with a vicious rasp that thrilled along Gabe’s spine, afore shrugging it off. Having never seen him without it, Gabriel had started to wonder if ’twas welded to Dylan’s body—but then, he’d only clapped eyes on him twice—so that p’raps didn’t count as a leather fetish.

  Leather-less Dylan was luscious, but topless? He was breath-taking; a fact revealed barely a blink later when he grasped the bottom of his black jumper, worn over a white T-shirt, and swept them over his head as one, afore tossing them aside. Bathed in flickering light and bronze, his honeyed torso was all lean, supple strength, as steely as the set of that jaw.

  “Dylan…” Gabriel had allowed his hand to shoot into the air afore he remembered his rent-a-role, and froze. Fingertips but millimetres from Dylan’s chest, as he rolled his eyes upwards…to encounter a blue half-hidden beyond a feathery frame of lashes. Dylan twitched his head a fraction. It was more than enough. Hesitancy fled as hope surged—alongside Gabriel’s hand—the lure of those lips was irresistible, having been given permission to touch. The blow job had felt quite in keeping with his new profession, but this seemed…somehow more intimate. Gabe had spent his life blundering through too many boundaries, to discount that as daft.

  All too oft oblivious, until way too late; but here, now, was all he had. There would be no ‘later’ in which to atone. Nor even to try and fail.

  A fizzle of flame shot up his arm when he brushed the pad of his thumb across plush satin, as incendiary as the barely-restrained need in blowtorch blue when Gabriel began to drag it slowly across Dylan’s plump lower lip. His lashes flickered, fanning his cheeks as he let his head fall back, baring the golden arc of his throat.

  Gabriel was done for on the staying-still front, so he shoved himself up using his elbows and yanked his jumper over his head; it had scarce emerged when Dylan launched forwards, flattening Gabe to the bed in a scorch of skin, engulfing him in hard heat.

  “Fuck! I—” Those eyes, marble bright by candlelight, ablaze with the most confounding concoction of emotion Gabriel had e’er seen.

  “Dylan, tell me,” he urged, pretence cast aside by panic.

  “I- Gabriel, I want—” Plush lips crushed down in lieu of finishing what Dylan couldn’t seem to say—but Gabriel somehow knew—knew what had hit him so hard. Literally. The breath-snatching slam of their chests had rattled Dylan; bone deep, but not…it seemed, in the way Gabe had feared.

  Dylan’s inflection of ‘want’ had been more telling than the word itself—and those he hadn’t uttered—which were too deafening to deny. The dawning of something far too tangible to ever believe into being. Truth.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Dylan

  “Fuck me, Dylan…if that’s what you want. Please.”

  Of course, that’s what he wanted. How could Gabriel doubt it? Even had it not been blatantly obvious—pinned to the bed beneath Dylan’s body—wasn’t that what people, punters, always wanted from him? How could anyone look at Gabriel, drown in those eyes, and not desire him? F’fucksakes. Dylan did…and he wasn’t gay. A statement that didn’t perhaps bear scrutiny right this moment, but he’d never ached to fuck a man before Gabriel. Dylan wasn’t exactly straight either; he’d never shied from the fact he found both sexes attractive but that was still a helluva way from…this. Compulsion.

  If mere curiosity had brought him here, he would have already been there, done that, a fair few years ago. Nor, was the situation itself some lurking kink he’d never acknowledged. Never, in Dylan’s darkest dreams had he fantasized about a liaison with a rent boy. He may have imagined himself in many scenarios with a certain superhero, but Dylan had never paid him for the privilege. He wanted Gabriel despite the way he ‘earned enough to get by’.

  In all honesty, Dylan was hard pressed to think what might be less erotic than knowing that someone could lay so much as a finger on Gabriel and place no value upon that. An affront that made murder seem a mere safety precaution. To keep Gabriel safe, clearly. From them, at least. Could anyone save Gabriel from himself, no matter how hard they tried?

  Who would be stupid enough to attempt it? If they didn’t die trying, he would hate them for it. Dylan sure as shit couldn’t confess any of that in reply to Gabriel’s question, nor did he have the slightest inclination to do so. He would sound like a goddamn lunatic.

  “It is…but not because—” I can. Not because you sell yourself so cheap that chances are, you won't say no, but because you’re…you. I want you. Despite the fact I can. Not because.

  Dylan couldn’t tell him that either; it was not only insulting, it revealed far more than he, a paltry punter, had the right to admit aloud. Even if he, somehow, managed to chance upon the ‘right’ words—they might still be misconstrued. There was only one response that would allow him to own the truth, without tripping over his own ineptitude. Dylan claimed the lips he’d longed to touch, taste, from the moment they met. Impossible to resist, had he ever considered such a travesty, since clapping eyes upon them. Kisses too deranging to deny all they revealed, too intoxicating to care less. Too everything but nowhere near enough. A haven of entwined tongues and shared breath…of clutching fingers and bodies cleaved close. But still too far apart.

  When Dylan did snatch his head back, it was merely to secure himself more. His clothes felt like a suit of bloody armour—which was perhaps the point in the general sense—but they now felt like a prison, rather than protection. Dylan smudged his lips across Gabriel’s jaw; so much smoother than his own, barely troubled by a trace of stubble. When he all but feasted on the long sweep of Gabriel’s throat, the soft moan that fluttered free was so sublime, Dylan knew he’d do whatever it took to coax out sounds he could believe were real.

  “Gabriel…” Dylan groaned when he broke the kiss, unable to stand the suspense any longer. His need for skin, now, was far stronger than his fear of wreaking the ultimate embarrassment upon himself. A considerable achievement, it must be admitted, but he sure as hell hoped he didn’t surpass himself this night.

  After dragging in a breath as ragged as it was futile—in get a grip terms—Dylan pushed up the fleecy front of Gabriel’s jumper. Only to find himself transfixed by the vast expanse of ivory he’d revealed. Smooth, pearlescent, in the flickering light that licked along the ladder of Gabriel’s ribs, nipples like bronze two pence pieces, darker, larger, than his own. Fuck. Skin so silken it was akin to skating his mouth towards the suede softness Dylan sought. A texture that puckered the instant he touched the tip of his tongue to it, so he trapped its taut nub between tender-sharp teeth. The throaty groan that ruffled his hair was far too gratifying for his own good. As was the fact Gabriel arched off the bed—as if he needed this as much as— f’fucksakes…stop thinking. He had to quit keeping score of all he felt sure was real; totting up some sort of neurotic tally in hope it might prove Gabriel wanted this. Pathetic, but pitifully true.

  “Dylan, clothes, skin…please…” A plea that sounded so heartfelt it seemed to echo his own hollow ache. A need so gnawing he could scarce restrain from shredding every scrap of cloth separating them. Not to reveal a truth verified by that very fact—but driven by the need to know every lavish inch of Gabriel—naked beneath him. Planting his palms on the bed, Dylan shoved himself up onto his knees and yanked his jacket off, then whisked his jumper and T-shirt over his head before tossing them to the floor.

  The impossible wonder with which Gabriel gazed up at Dyl
an’s topless self was—despite all that had preceded it—the most staggering thing of all. If he could have wrenched his focus from the mesmerizing desire in those eyes, Dylan might’ve glanced down; rather as Peter Parker had, after waking with his newly enhanced Spiderman physique. Dylan sure as fuck hadn’t been bitten by a radioactive arachnid in the last few minutes, so chances were, he still looked much the same as he had for the last five years. None of which explained why the hell those bottomless browns brimmed with such…longing. They had to be lying. Good actor? Gabriel deserved a goddamn Oscar for that expression alone.

  “Dylan…” Gabriel bit down on his bottom lip while shooting a guilty glance at his own hand, which was hovering in mid-air, having unexpectedly stilled. Had he been about to ask if he could touch Dylan? Why? The only word likely to air (raid siren) itself, any time soon, was pleeease…so Dylan just sort of jerked his head, which was about the only movement he could risk without falling upon Gabriel like a rabid dog.

  Again, he found himself nonplussed when Gabriel didn’t trail his fingertips down Dylan’s chest, lips curved as coyly as a—rent boy? Gabriel could be courtesan to a bloody King. It wasn’t merely those soft mewls of sound, nor that pincushion pout, nor even entirely down to those incomparable eyes; it was the…wonderment writ so large within them. It could make a wretch feel regal. Gabriel didn’t lay a finger on his body.

  Instead, Dylan watched, dumbfounded, by the thumb Gabriel began to drag oh, so slowly across his lower lip. Oh, how he’d underestimated Gabriel’s geisha guile…if he didn’t dial it down a notch or twenty, then—God no. Dylan would die of shame.