From Morocco to Paris

by Lydia Nyx

  “So, how do you wanna do this?” Zane asked. “Is there some preferred position?”

  “Well,” Davey said and shifted on his knees. “As we saw earlier, I can get my legs behind my head. But let’s not traumatize you your first time. I’ll get on my stomach.”

  Zane tugged his own shirt up and off, because he felt weird being completely clothed. Davey tossed his robe aside and laid down on his stomach, sighing contentedly, stretching like a cat. Zane eyed the round, plump curve of his ass, wondering if he should just dive in.

  Davey turned his head and smiled back at him.

  “Feel me up a bit if it makes you feel better,” he said. “Ease into it.”

  Zane slid over. He stroked a hand over the back of Davey’s thigh, the skin soft and silky under his fingers. Davey sighed. Zane moved his hand higher and groped his ass. Also soft.

  “Do you think our soldiers rimmed each other?” Davey asked.

  “How did I know that question was coming?”

  “Mmm, I bet they did,” Davey said. “I bet it was the perfect activity for a lazy afternoon. One of them just pushed the other’s knees back while he was lying on his bedroll in their tent and gave him a nice, leisurely tongue-fucking.”

  “I don’t think men in Napoleon’s army had lazy afternoons.”

  “I bet when they wanted some hot love, they had plenty of time for each other.”

  Zane leaned over and kissed the hollow of his lower back. Davey’s skin smelled sharply of soap. Zane licked up the wetness there, and Davey gasped. Zane followed the line of his spine with his tongue all the way to his tailbone. He could do this.

  “You’re catching on quick,” Davey murmured. “Now you just have to go lower.” He spread his thighs.

  Zane swatted his ass. “Quit being so damn pushy.”

  Davey moaned sharply. “Quit being so damn slow. Feel free to smack me again, too.”

  Zane figured there was no graceful approach, he simply had to begin. If he didn’t like it, as Davey had said, he would stop.

  “Fine, I’ll quit being slow,” Zane said. He spread Davey’s cheeks and pulled his tongue in a long, slow lick all the way up the crack of his ass. He tasted nothing but clean skin.

  Davey wailed as if he’d been stabbed and nearly came off the bed, his thighs squeezing around Zane’s sides. Then he gasped and dropped his head against the pillow.

  “Oh, fuck yes,” Davey said.

  “Yes?”

  Zane leaned forward and flicked his tongue against him, more specific this time, teasing the tight little opening which presented itself.

  “Yes!” Davey wailed and curled his fingers in the blankets.

  “Beg,” Zane ordered. He liked having control over him for once.

  “Please?” Davey asked and squirmed. Zane held him open.

  “I said beg, you pushy little bitch.”

  “Please!” Davey shouted.

  Zane blew experimentally on the wet skin, and Davey nearly clawed through the mattress.

  “Please what?” Zane asked.

  “Please fuck me with your tongue!” Davey gasped out. He moaned imploringly. “Stick it in me!”

  “Keep up the dirty talk, or I’ll stop.”

  Zane leaned forward again and applied his tongue, tentatively at first, but then quickly grew more comfortable. Davey tasted perfectly clean, and aside from having to deal with constant squirming, the task wasn’t difficult for Zane. He lapped, flicked, swirled, and eventually got up the nerve to push inside a bit.

  Davey kept up a stream of moaning, squealing, and a running commentary of his pleasure.

  “Yes, tongue-fuck my ass. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” Davey demanded in a husky, heaving voice. “More. Fuck, more please. More of your tongue.”

  Zane paused to look up. Davey had his arm beneath himself, hips working. His hair spread over the pillow and tangled on his shoulders, his face turned to the side, cheek flushed, eyes closed. “Am I gonna get you off like this?” Zane asked. His own cock pushed against his jeans, against the bed, lust finally overcoming anxiety.

  “Fuck yes,” Davey answered. “Keep it up, and it won’t take long.”

  The promise of a blowjob in his future, Zane returned to his work in earnest. He was surprised at how far he could wiggle his tongue inside. Davey pushed back against his face, grinding at one point, threatening to take off his nose. Zane eased Davey’s hips back down and held him in place while he laved him, nice and slow.

  Davey came as quick as he said he would. He made one hell of a racket, and Zane slipped a hand underneath him to assist the process, glad they were in Davey’s bed and not his.

  When Davey finished, Zane sat up on his knees. He wiped his mouth across his forearm and undid his jeans to relieve the discomfort. Davey rolled over, panting. Wetness glistened on his lower belly, not water this time.

  “Thank you,” Davey gasped, pushing his tangled hair out of his face. “Give me a minute to recover, then I’ll reciprocate.”

  “Take your time,” Zane said and crawled off the bed.

  As discreetly as he could, Zane went to the bathroom and found some mouthwash. When he came back, Davey had propped himself up on one elbow and smirked.

  “Was it dirty after all?” Davey asked.

  Zane pushed his jeans down, along with his shorts. His cock had relaxed to a semi-erect state.

  “No. I’m sorry,” Zane said. He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s just — “

  “No need to explain. If I stuck my tongue in your ass, I’d wash my mouth out too.”

  “Oh.”

  “It’s cool.” Davey assured him. “And it’s a good idea, hygiene-wise. But just remember, you’ve got plenty of germs in your mouth as well.”

  “In that case, maybe I should have done it beforehand too.”

  Davey winced. “That probably would have burned. I’m glad you didn’t.”

  Zane climbed back on the bed. Davey eyed his cock. “I have some payback to administer,” he said.

  “Yes, you do,” Zane replied.

  Davey made Zane lie back, and Davey knelt in front of him. In little time Zane grew fully hard again in the hot, soft recess of Davey’s mouth. Zane stroked Davey’s hair back from his face so he could watch.

  True to his word Davey sucked him hard, keeping a tight suction around him while taking him deep. Zane clutched his damp hair, thrusting his hips a little. Davey cupped his balls. The tip of his nose kept brushing Zane’s stomach, his lashes fluttering as he worked. Zane stroked his cheek and felt it go concave on each pass.

  As Zane neared the brink of orgasm, Davey stopped and looked up at him. His eyes shone in the light.

  “Where do you wanna blow?” Davey asked.

  Zane groaned. His cock twitched and ached, the head brushing against Davey’s swollen lower lip. He just wanted back inside.

  “I — where do you want me to?” Zane asked.

  “Are you in the mood to see it all over my face? Or do you want something simpler?”

  “Surprise me,” Zane said, unable to think.

  Davey fixed him with a serious look. “You’re clean?”

  “Yes.”

  “You swear to me?”

  “I swear on my mother’s life, I get tested every few months. Jesus Christ, just finish me off.”

  “Don’t be a fucking asshole! I don’t want some nasty STD in my mouth.”

  Davey swallowed him again. Zane gasped and almost came at once from the renewed stimulation. He managed to last another minute and then he let out a choked cry as his cock throbbed and heat rushed down his thighs. Davey slid his mouth off and gripped him, stroking firmly.

  Zane shuddered as he started to release. Davey aimed a shot into his mouth. Another hit his cheek, then some across his nose. Some got in his hair too, though accidentally. Zane collapsed back on the bed when he finished, panting.

  Davey sat up, sloughed off his cheek and nose, and sucked his fingers clean. Zane deemed the whole experience wort
h the aggravation. Davey looked rather charming with a sticky face. He clambered over Zane’s prone body and looked down at him. There were still shiny tracks across his cheek. He licked his lips.

  “Too bad you just got off, or I’d sit on your cock,” Davey said.

  “Well, it’ll give us something to do later.”

  Davey climbed off the bed. Zane closed his eyes, enjoying the buzz in his veins. This time, he managed to keep the ghosts in his head at bay.

  “Ugh, my hair!” he heard Davey exclaim from the bathroom and snickered.

  When Davey came back, he produced a pack of cigarettes and lit one up, sitting naked next to Zane. He held the pack out.

  “Want one?” Davey asked.

  “I told you I quit.”

  “But you know you want one.”

  “You fucking asshole.” Zane took the pack.

  Davey opened a window so the cool sea air flowed over their skin. The nicotine tasted fucking fantastic and made Zane feel even better, like rediscovering a long lost, extremely hot lover. He watched the smoke drift over the bed and whisk away on the breeze, wondering what else Davey would fuck up for him.

  “You know, we need to do some experimenting and try to figure out what they used for lube,” Davey said. “For the sake of research, of course.”

  Zane looked over. “If you keep it up, we’re going to be experimenting with blood.”

  Davey smirked and rolled onto his side. “Oh darling, if only you could punish me the way you punish yourself.”

  Zane gazed at him a moment, cigarette perched between his fingers and burning away, then he leaned forward and kissed Davey slowly, gently. When he drew back, Davey’s eyes were shining and he was smiling.

  “What was that for?” Davey asked.

  “For being so loud I can’t hear anything else right now.”

  Chapter 4

  “God, you are in such a bad mood today,” Davey said.

  Zane and Davey were on a train back from Marrakech, several days after the night on the beach. Zane had indeed been moody and quiet most of the day.

  “I’m fine,” Zane said. “I’m just thinking about the next few weeks.” He stared out the window, watching the scenery rush by — green valleys, gleaming stretches of river, grassy fields, and in the distance, mountains, moving slower than the rest, a jagged line against the cloudless sky.

  Davey, arm resting casually on the back of Zane’s seat, snorted. “That’s what this little day trip was for,” he said. “Not thinking about the next few weeks. It’s supposed to be a day off. A rest.”

  “You have no idea what we’re about to endure,” Zane said. “I spent four days helping out on a shoot in Death Valley once, and that was hell on earth. This is going to be much worse.” As they passed through the shadow of thick trees, the window darkened and he saw flashes of Davey’s face in the glass.

  “We’re going to be living like animals in the desert for a month or so,” Davey said. Zane felt his shrug. “I’ve stayed at my best friend Troy’s house before. It’s pretty much the same thing. Without the desert.”

  Zane turned, glaring. “Do you really understand what this is going to be like? No cushy hotels. No TV. No phones. No bathrooms. Port-a-Potties, at best, if not a latrine. We’re going to be living hardcore, French-army style.”

  “Taking every shit job in the industry,” Davey said and folded his hands over his chest in sanctimonious fashion. “Your words. We suffer for our education.”

  Zane scowled and looked back out the window.

  “You’re about to learn what ‘suffering for your education’ really means,” Zane said.

  “Zane, I’ve suffered for my education in ways you probably wouldn’t believe.”

  “Yeah, let’s see if they compare when you’ve had nothing to eat but army rations for a month.”

  “Zane, sometimes when I was in college, I was so broke all I had to eat was dog food.”

  Zane looked around at him. Davey smirked.

  “Just kidding. I wanted to see your reaction.”

  “You’re an ass,” Zane said.

  “Don’t think I haven’t suffered though. Not just for my work,” Davey said, seeming serious this time. “Life is about suffering. That’s how you learn the important lessons.”

  “Is this where you’re going to tell me what a hotbed of despair your life has been?”

  “Hey.” Davey fixed him with a stern look. “You don’t know about my life, and you barely know me, so don’t get snarky.”

  “I could say the exact same thing to you.”

  “Listen,” Davey said and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Elliot told you to enjoy these last two days before we go. You have to lighten up. Give yourself a break.”

  Zane drew a deep sigh and nodded, looking out the window again. They were passing some ancient buildings which looked liked they’d grown right up out of the earth, towers of ragged stones baking in the sun.

  “All right, I’ll try to relax,” Zane said.

  “Good. So what did you buy?”

  They had spent the morning at the medina in Marrakech at a souk, a great marketplace where one could buy just about anything. They had picked up a guide, who spoke the language fluently and kept Zane, more than once, from getting ripped off. Davey didn’t always bother to use the interpreter and yet made a spectacular show of getting things across with gestures and by holding up various quantities of money. Zane admired his resourcefulness. He had bought far more than Zane and didn’t come out broke.

  “I just got some stuff for my family back home in Kentucky,” Zane said. “Souvenirs and stuff. I always send them stuff from shoots.”

  “Nothing for yourself? God, you do need to lighten up.” Davey leaned over and started sorting through one of the bags at his feet.

  “Don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll have some bruises and cuts to take back with me. Maybe even a nice infection.”

  Davey whipped out a long garment, a robe with a hood, made of thin, gauzy material, dark blue with lighter blue stripes.

  “This is a djellaba.” Davey pronounced the word succinctly. “Very fashionable here,” he said, stroking his fingers over the fabric. “Isn’t it sexy?”

  “It looks like something my grandmother would wear.”

  Davey held the robe against himself. “You don’t think it would be sexy on me? What if I wasn’t wearing anything underneath?”

  Zane hoped the other passengers around them didn’t speak English.

  “Somehow I didn’t expect you to wear clothes under it to begin with,” Zane said.

  “I’m going to try it on when we get back to the hotel,” Davey said and folded the djellaba carefully on his lap. “I want to see what it feels like against my bare skin. It looks like something one of the Mamluk soldiers would wear, doesn’t it?”

  The Mamluks had met Napoleon at the Battle of the Pyramids. “Is that why you bought it?” Zane asked. “You’re joining the enemy?”

  Davey leaned over and drew out a pair of flat, pointy-toed slippers, dark blue as well. “And these are called babouches,” he said.

  “You like clothes, don’t you?”

  “I wouldn’t be a costumer if I didn’t, now would I? You like fetching lattes, don’t you?”

  “Fuck off.”

  Davey fell silent for a moment. Zane imagined he needed to refill his chatter tank.

  “You’re from Kentucky?” Davey asked.

  The damn thing refilled fast.

  “Yes,” Zane said.

  “You don’t talk like a redneck. I haven’t heard you say ‘y’all’ once.”

  “I went to California when I was eighteen. I’ve been there ten years. It wore off. Where are you from?” Zane knew he’d regret asking, but reciprocation seemed polite.

  “From?” Davey asked, and the corner of his mouth quirked. “I was born in Reno. I spent most of my childhood being dragged all over the country by my mother, though. When she wasn’t ditching me for months on end with one of h
er weird friends.”

  Zane arched an eyebrow. “Why did your mother travel so much?”

  Davey shrugged and leaned over to put his items away. “Jobs,” he said. “Men. Looking for cheaper drugs. Looking for more expensive men. I was in and out of so many schools I finally just gave up and dropped out when I was old enough.”

  “You didn’t finish school? How the hell did you go to college and all that?”

  Davey snorted and sat up. “The only advantage to having a mother like mine. She always ‘knew a guy.’ I got some fake papers.”

  When Zane gave him a surprised look, Davey rolled his eyes. “It’s not that big of a deal,” Davey said. “It was design school; I wasn’t going into the fucking military.”

  Zane rested his head back against the seat. “What about your father?” he asked.

  “Who knows? I’ve narrowed it down to three guys, none of whom are very appealing.”

  Something deep inside told Zane to stop digging into Davey’s psyche, or he might find himself actually giving a shit.

  “Maybe it’s better you don’t know your father,” Zane said. “I wish I didn’t know mine, sometimes.”

  “You don’t like your father?”

  “To put it mildly.”

  “Why?”

  “We’re supposed to be relaxing, remember?”

  The rest of the train ride Davey spent talking while Zane tried to fend off a slow-growing headache. They were meeting Cristiano and Elliot in Melilla for a late lunch, and Zane really needed a drink. No matter how he tried to relax, he kept dreading the weeks ahead.

  “I personally think it’s going to be fun,” Davey said, when Zane brought the subject up again, voicing how much he really didn’t want to go into the desert.

  “What?” Zane asked.

  “Going out into the desert. Living hard and dirty. I think it’ll be sexy.”

  Zane rubbed his temple, elbow propped on the ledge beneath the window.

  “What the hell are you talking about, sexy?” Zane asked. “Is that your vocabulary word today?”

  “Think about it!” Davey said. He had slid down in his seat so his knees rested against the one in front of him, hands folded on his stomach. “All of us hot and dirty. Sweat dripping. Testosterone. Bare muscles. Pheromones filling the air.”