by Willa Okati
Orillon. That was the man’s name. Donovan could have panicked -- no one was supposed to know, no one but Remy, and it’d taken almost a year to confess the truth to his lover for fear of how he’d react.
It wasn’t every day someone discovered the man they slept with and had fallen for wasn’t exactly a real person.
Although Donovan didn’t know what he was instead…
But in the Big Easy, people had a different way of looking at life. They accepted what others wouldn’t; embraced it, even. Donovan realized he didn’t need to worry. Not here. Not now.
“I never tell,” Orillon repeated, soothing. “Now you go to your Remy, oui? I know your time here is short, too short. Take him beignets and coffee and kiss him good for me.”
“Didn’t know you liked kissing men.”
“On the cheek! My kiss for your Remy is on the cheek. Any other places you put your lips, don’t be telling Orillon. I don’t want to know.”
Donovan found himself matching grin for grin with Orillon, enjoying the game of words. “I don’t just use my lips.”
“Non, non! I see too much already in Mardi Gras, these days. Times, they change. But it is good to live free, to love him who you choose. Go on now. He always waits for you, always hopes today is the day you visit again. Give him good surprise when you come for true, oui?”
“I plan to come, all right. More than once.”
“Now you tease me.”
“Maybe a little,” Donovan admitted. He lifted his chin, taking another deep breath. The sweetness of sugar and the rich bitterness of brewing coffee tantalized him. His stomach rumbled. “Where is that bakery again, the one you said was better than Café du Monde?”
“Down two streets and take a left. Not out of your way. Now I best get back to work. This sidewalk don’t sweep itself, and you keeping company with Orillon is a waste of your time. Time, she’s precious. Don’t waste. Go on, now.” Orillon picked up the broom he’d dropped to greet Donovan. “Go to Remy. Both of you are very lucky to have each other. Go love.”
Donovan raised his face to the brilliant yellow sun glowing down his blessings on the old city. “I am lucky,” he murmured. “Luckier than you know.”
* * *
The old wood of the porch steps felt warm beneath Remy as he took a seat, basking in the sun as lazy as a lizard. He had a good feeling about this day. Something would happen, something fine. If he waited, the blessing would come.
So wait he would.
Bo sat at attention by his side. “Poor boy, you expected another walk today, didn’t you?” Remy scratched Bo’s scruff. Bo took his job too seriously and was far too well-disciplined to roll and whine with pleasure the way most dogs would, but he gave Remy’s arm a quick swipe with his tongue. “Maybe we take a stroll later. Right now, I feel as if I need to be here.”
He shook his head, tossing the hair he’d grown out long off his shoulders. “You smell that? The day smells of hope. Hope has a scent, you know? Not really easy to describe. Maybe like the air after a rain shower, a little bit honeyed, and sweet.”
Bo stiffened, pulling himself up taut. “What ails you, friend?” Remy asked, hope springing up within him. Bo only ever reacted like this to one particular man. “Something bad?” he teased, heart thumping with anticipation. “Trouble?”
“Depends on your definition,” a voice he knew said, deep baritone and pure sex. “But then again, Bo never liked me.”
Though he hadn’t seen the sun, not ever, Remy felt its brilliance burst through him. He wanted to leap up and dance, sing, shout for joy and fling himself at the man who’d spoken. “You came back,” he said instead, then laughed. “I begin to think ‘never again,’ some days. But I never give up dreaming to hold you.”
“I’ll always come back.” Remy sensed Donovan crouching before him. The man took Remy’s hand in his own and raised it to brush his lips over the knuckles. “Every chance I get. I can’t stay away from you, you see.”
Remy grinned. “I am an addiction?”
“You’re in my blood. The more I get, the more I want. It kills me to leave you, to be away.”
“Hurts me too.” Remy freed his hand and traced Donovan’s stubborn chin, his eagle nose, his thin upper lip and full lower lip. Those lips kissed his fingertips as he learned his lover’s face again, though he had never forgotten, not really. “But no sad thoughts now, eh? Not when you are here. Now is time for us to eat, drink, and be merry.” He licked his lips. “And other things, oui? I have been too long without your lips on mine and your hands on my body. I am so wanton -- the sound of your voice in my ears makes me want to throw you into bed.”
Donovan chuckled. “I wouldn’t have you any other way. But how about we start with ‘eat’ and ‘drink’?” Remy heard the crinkling of a paper bag as Donovan placed it gently in his lap. Donovan wrapped Remy’s hand around a hot paper cup. “Coffee. Beignets.”
Remy pounced on the treats. “Oh, bon! I never get tired of these. You love them too, I know. Here.” He pulled open the bag and plucked out a sticky pastry, still warm, and tore off a bite-sized piece. “Open your mouth, cher.”
“We aren’t even inside yet.”
“Tease.” Remy socked Donovan’s arm. “Now open.” He drew the fragment of beignet along his lover’s lips. “Taste.”
Donovan obeyed, letting Remy place the offering of New Orleans essence on his tongue. He moaned, the sound warming Remy’s stomach. Other parts of him took notice too, especially when Donovan caught and sucked Remy’s fingers before they could escape, curling his tongue around them, tugging and teasing.
Remy took a sip of the coffee, black and bitter, strong as the hurricane wind. He sighed in pleasure. “Now we have eaten and drunk. Enough with this play. It has been too long for me sleeping in a cold bed all alone.”
“No asking where I’ve been? No questions about why I came back?”
“Questions? Non. I will not waste another second of precious time.” Remy took Donovan by the arm, rubbing his thumb against hard muscle. “In my bed. Now.”
“And they say romance is dead.”
“Non. Romance is living and well. But romance is for later, when I write bad poems for the sake of missing you.” He grinned when Donovan laughed. “Not that I ever let you read them, mind. I am terribly bad with rhymes. Now, though, we will not speak of poems, not hearts and fleurs, not where and why and how. I said ‘bed,’ and you best listen.”
Remy put both coffee and beignets aside and stood, not needing his narrow white cane. Not in his own home, not when Donovan was there to guide him.
Donovan, come back at last.
What did being blind matter when he had a lover who brought such color to his life?
* * *
Donovan kicked the door shut behind him, so eager for Remy he nearly splintered the wood. No one would have minded, regardless of what Orillon said, if he’d groped Remy in broad daylight. They could have all but fucked on the front porch and likely gotten a round of applause from passers-by.
Bo, on the other hand, who’d been left outside, would likely have bitten a chunk out of his naked ass. He really didn’t like Donovan. Didn’t trust him.
Smart dog. He knew Donovan wasn’t natural. Wasn’t really human. Just a piece of art come to life through some voodoo or other magic he had never understood.
He was so fucking lucky that Remy knew and loved him anyway.
Remy spun around, amazing Donovan as always with his grace. He was built on the lines of a natural-born dancer, all lean muscle and narrow hips, long legs and willowy arms. His eyes, the solid green of fresh spring grass, never moved, but they spoke volumes.
Just then, they sparkled with wicked lust.
“You are so beautiful,” Donovan whispered. “I wish you could see yourself.”
“I would rather see you. But to see, I must touch.”
Donovan spread his arms wide. “I’m all yours.”
“Oui, you are.” Remy flung himself against D
onovan’s chest, tackling him with enough force to make the bigger man stagger back, laughing in surprised delight. “I am yours. You are mine. Now kiss me before I die from waiting. Kiss me bad. I burn for you, mon cher.”
Who could say no? Donovan took Remy by his forearms and tugged him close, bringing his face down for the kiss Remy had asked for. Their lips brushed briefly, gently, and then Donovan couldn’t wait any longer. He crushed their mouths together and freed one hand to slam Remy’s slight frame against his big, solid body.
Les le bon ton rouller -- let the good times roll!
Chapter Two
With their mouths fused together as if they were all but about to become one flesh, Remy tasted his Donovan and “saw” that he was good. Donovan tore free with a grunt, fastening his teeth on the nape of Remy’s neck. He bit gently enough not to break the skin, hard enough to send stabs of pain and make Remy cry out, then kissed and licked the spot better.
“You will drive me crazy, cher,” Remy gasped. Lust made him clumsy, but Donovan would never let him fall. He held Remy up while his lips and teeth roamed over Remy’s skin, pushing the strap of his undershirt off for more skin to devour.
He could feel Donovan’s desperation in the way the man ravaged a path of burning kisses on his chest, impatiently jerking the tight shirt down to bare Remy’s nipples for hard pinches, then intense sucking and more teeth again. “Yes, yes,” Remy crooned. “This is what I like. You make a good start.”
Donovan drew a long line up Remy’s throat with the tip of his tongue. “If you like this,” he said, voice rumbling like the thunder, “just wait until I get warmed up.”
“Warmed up? I think you are damned hot already.” Remy laughed for delight at the thrill of being wanted so, and at his own flight of fancy. Donovan, eh, he was like a man roaming in the desert, no? Remy was his oasis, and he would drink till he burst, no stopping him. Good; Remy did not want this to end any time soon!
But he should be doing his own part, no? Selfish to stand there and take, take, take, not giving anything back. They were pressed close together, Donovan’s chest heaving with deep, ragged breaths, so Remy had little room -- but he was a Cajun. He made good use of what he could get.
Unwrapping one arm from around Donovan’s neck, he thrust his hand down, desperate his own self, to fumble at the zipper of Donovan’s jeans. Just as he liked a little pain, so did Donovan. He rubbed rough and hard, grinding the metal teeth against Donovan’s rigid cock. Not to damage him, no, just to entice, to play.
Donovan rocked into Remy’s hand. “You’re hurting me,” he growled. “I like it. Do it again.”
“Anything for you, cher, but I think you like this more.” Remy found his nimbleness again and drew down the zipper. Ah, bon! Donovan wore nothing beneath, exactly as Remy preferred, and with no barriers in the way the hard cock which had teased him so smacked out into the palm of his hand.
For a man without sight, his fingers were his eyes. Remy could have described Donovan’s dick in loving detail even when his lover had been gone for one of the countless weeks in which he disappeared, but ah, that did not compare to the real thing, did it? Silky, tissue-thin skin that moved up and down like a fine sleeve over the rock-solid core. Lucky enough to be uncut, he was, the skin already drawn back in a tight bunch. Remy pinched the meaty head and was rewarded with a sticky, wet drop on his thumb.
Donovan hissed as Remy grasped his cock, seeing the rod with his fingers, worshipful as if he were at Mass, nasty as the back room of a bath house. Remy chortled and lifted the thumb with its drop of juice to his mouth, dabbing the liquid against his tongue.
“God,” Donovan rasped. “Do you have any fucking idea how hot you look when you do that?”
Remy licked his lips. “Salty, sweet, good. Give me more.” He grasped the meat of Donovan’s cock and began pumping ever so slowly, teasing. Oh, he was wicked, he was. He knew Donovan wanted hard and fast, but he, Remy, he craved slow and sweet.
Lucky him, he was the one in control. Donovan might top for the most part, might be the one to turn Remy on his stomach and drive into his hole, but what they did and when they did it, these things were on Remy’s say-so.
Donovan growled, pushing into Remy’s hand, his strong arm gripping Remy tight by the waist. “I know what’s going through your head, Cajun. I won’t last long enough for any games.”
“But I so love to play.”
“You want me to beg? I’ll beg. Got to fuck you.” Donovan’s lips found Remy’s in a bruising kiss, teeth clashing together, lips stinging as they all but split. “Don’t make me wait.”
“Ask me sweetly, then, the way a lover likes to hear, and maybe I say yes.” Remy teased the slit of Donovan’s cock with one of his short-clipped fingernails. “You want?”
Donovan’s laugh exploded from his chest. “My heart. My soul. My love.”
“Mmm, yes, this is a good start.”
“My sunshine. My willow tree. My reason for living.”
“Ah,” Remy said softly, “now this, this is what I have been waiting to hear.” He squeezed Donovan’s prick, charming the snake into rising up at his command. In giving, he received all he wanted. “Now, you can take me as you like.”
“I’ll take you any damn way I can get you. And I want you out of these clothes. I need skin. Nothing between us.” Donovan yanked Remy’s undershirt up, roughly pushing his arms up to tear away one of their barriers.
Mmm, chest to chest, so nice. But things, they could be better still, oui? Remy hissed with pleasure as Donovan impatiently jerked open the button-fly of his own jeans, shoving them down past his narrow hips. They were tight, that pair, all but molded to his legs, but Donovan let nothing stop him.
Remy stepped out of the jeans on his own and kicked them away. He grasped his own cock, risen to curve against the bottom of his belly, wet with need and seed. He chortled and lifted his other hand to touch the bandana holding his hair back. “We forgot about this! I must look the fool.”
“Hell, no. No -- don’t take it off.” Donovan snatched Remy’s hand away. He licked the bridge of Remy’s nose. “It’s fucking hot.”
Remy shrugged. “If you like, I keep.”
“I like. I like very much.”
“Then show me, why don’t you?” Remy teased. “What do you want most, eh? Whatever it is, you can take. Remy is yours to use as best you like.”
“Shouldn’t have said that,” Donovan whispered in Remy’s ear, hot breath tickling and sending a thrill of excitement down to Remy’s cock, which jerked in eager anticipation.
“Am I in trouble, then?”
“Only the best kind. Your bedroom is still at the far back, right?”
“Oui, as always.”
“Then look out, ’cause here we come.” Remy squealed as he felt himself being swooped up in Donovan’s bulky arms, which carried him as if he weighed no more than the feather of a mockingbird. He laughed and pounded one balled-up fist against Donovan’s solid chest, but did he want to be put down? Non, non. He loved to play, and playing with Donovan was the best of all, bien sur.
“One,” Donovan counted as he swung Remy to and fro, “two -- three!”
He hurled Remy through the air, giving him one thrilling moment of freefalling head rush before Remy landed on the soft, cool duvet covering his bed, bouncing up and down. Remy whooped with laughter and held his arms wide for Donovan to fall into them.
The big man’s weight was almost enough to smother, but Remy could think of no better way to go, than being drowned under Donovan. “I think you are right, amour. The time for games, she is past.” He rocked his hips against Donovan’s, rubbing their swollen cocks together, so good he had to tilt his head back to catch the breath so easily stolen away. “Fuck me now, cher. Make me see the stars.”
Donovan ravaged Remy’s mouth with another voracious kiss, jabbing at Remy’s tongue with his own until Remy dueled back, wrapping his arms around Donovan’s neck to pull him closer.
“Turn
over,” Donovan ordered. “Easier for you, since it’s been a while.”
“A while, yes. Too long.” Remy stole another quick kiss, nipping Donovan’s full lower lip for the sake of mischief, and lithely rolled onto his stomach. “Six months this time, you left me.”
“Six months. God.” Donovan stilled. “Why do you wait for me, Remy?”
Remy stretched, arching his back. He laughed at the question. “Because you are worth the wait, you petit batard. Now, why are you the one who waits?” He lifted his hips in invitation, cock pulsing with excitement at the thought of being filled again. So empty without Donovan, he had been, but no, he would have no one else in his bed. “Do me right,” he coaxed, thickening the smooth honey flow of his accent. “Do me wicked.”
Donovan attacked with a playful growl, biting down the ridges of Remy’s shoulder blades. Remy hissed as his lover raised himself onto his knees and prodded the seam of Remy’s ass cheeks with his cock. “You want this?” he rasped. “You want me?”
“Mon Dieu. Oui!” Remy wriggled, fumbling for a pillow to push under his hips since Donovan seemed to be the one who teased now. “I will throw you on your back and ride you if you don’t put that cock in me soon.”
“Mmm.” Donovan pressed the tip of one finger between Remy’s cheeks, not getting anywhere near the target, no, only letting Remy know he was there. “See, now that’s how I like to be sweetly asked.”
Remy growled.
The finger jabbed down, direct aim first time, butting against Remy’s tight pucker. Remy writhed with the pleasure/pain of dry probing, and wished he could take Donovan just as he was, but knew Donovan would never say yes. “Under the mattress, there is lubricant. I have to hide the bottle or I never hear the end of it from my house help.”
Donovan grunted, sounding surprised, but followed instructions. Remy heard the click of the bottle opening and smelled rich cinnamon. “New brand? And here I thought you never changed.”
“I do not change. My taste in slick is the whimsical thing. This brand, she warms when she touches skin. So touch already, eh?”
