Velvet Need

by Sean Michael

  Chuckling, he started moving them slowly, a half-shuffle, down to the living room and his big, comfy couch. All the while he touched and teased, finding Dent's nipples and playing with them, circling the little navel, and not quite going down to the newly bared skin.

  Dent followed him, focusing on his touches, allowing him access to that sweet, delicious need.

  He giggled softly, so pleased, so happy.

  They sank together onto the couch as he kissed Dent, fingers finally stroking the bared skin around the man's cock.

  Dent moaned, the kiss deepening, Dent's hands cradling his head.

  Oh, he did like that. He liked Dent's strength and the warmth of the man. He liked the way Dent's fingers felt on him.

  He cupped Dent's balls, rolling them gently.

  Dent dragged him in closer, free hand sliding over him, slipping down his spine.

  He shivered, offering his reactions to Dent. He would push the man, he would break down barriers, but he would not let Dent believe he was alone.

  He finally slid his hand along Dent's prick, fingers tracing its shape, and enjoyed the way Dent groaned into his lips, how Dent leaned and pulled him closer.

  He pressed his thumb against Dent's slit, not going in, just reminding the man of the sound.

  Dent shuddered, pulling back just a bit, gasping into their kiss.

  "You liked that so much,” he murmured against Dent's lips, his fingers wrapping loosely around Dent's prick and sliding.

  "I ... shh. You talk too much.” Dent whimpered, tongue sliding against his bottom lip.

  Luttrell laughed softly. He suspected it was what he talked about that Dent objected to.

  He caught Dent's tongue between his lips and sucked on it. Oh, Dent enjoyed that, muscles tensing and dragging him closer.

  He rubbed against Dent's skin, reveling in the warmth, in the softness over hard muscles. He sucked harder on Dent's tongue, worked the man's cockhead. He wanted Dent to want him even if the man didn't believe he wanted what happened in the Room.

  And Dent did want him. Honestly, when they were simply touching, Dent was a generous, wanton man, eager to touch and be touched.

  His free hand wandered to Dent's back, fingers dancing over the man's long spine. He found a sweet bundle of nerves just above Dent's ass where the man's back dimpled in just a bit. He teased and stayed there.

  Dent almost—almost—laughed, jerking and pulling away from the touch.

  "I want to taste you there,” murmured Luttrell, chuckling at Dent's reaction. “Can you imagine my tongue playing there?"

  "Luttrell...” Dent arched, lips opening and closing.

  "You can...” he giggled, pressing closer. “Can you imagine lying top to bottom with me, Dent? I would like to taste you while you taste me."

  "Yes...” Dent took his lips in a hard, intense kiss. Yes, this man was more than eager, more than willing to share.

  When their lips finally parted, he held Dent's eyes for a moment, smiling into them, making a connection before he settled Dent against the back of the couch and shifted positions so that they were each faced with the other's hardness. He laughed and licked at the tip of Dent's cock, taking in the flavor of the man.

  "You are quite mad.” Dent's lips wrapped around his prick, the pressure sudden and steady.

  Any answer he might have made died as the sweet suction drew a moan out of him, and then another. He wrapped his lips around Dent's prick, determined to bring Dent as much pleasure as was being given. It shocked him, the way Dent gave, the way the man was starved for the most basic of contact.

  His hands slid over Dent's body, finding the strong thighs and rubbing, cupping the bare balls, sliding back to squeeze the globes of Dent's ass. Touching Dent felt good, sucking him felt even better. Lutrell let his tongue play with the tip of Dent's cock before his head bobbed down along the shaft again.

  Each touch to the tip of Dent's cock made the man jump and jerk, low noises surrounding his shaft. He set up a rhythm, touching the tip, pushing his tongue in just a bit, and then swallowing the length. Over and over again as his own hips nearly trembled from the sensation of Dent's mouth around him.

  Dent shuddered, hips beginning to rock, to push that prick into his lips, over and over. Oh, yes! Full participation—this, Dent could admit to wanting. His joyous laughter vibrated around Dent's prick.

  Dent's hands wrapped around his hips, tugging him in deep, that throat closing around the tip of his cock.

  His own mouth went slack as his orgasm began gathering deep inside his belly. His balls drew up tight and a shudder went through him as he shot into Dent's mouth.

  Dent kept tasting him, kept making him feel good as he shook and pressed in.

  His own hips finally stilled, his breathing harsh around Dent's prick, and it was several more moments before he had the presence of mind to continue sucking on Dent's own cock.

  "More.” Pushy little bottom. He chuckled, Dent's body strong and firm against him. Well, perhaps not little...

  He squeezed Dent's ass again, fingers sliding along the crack to Dent's hole. He nudged it with a finger as he tapped Dent's slit with his tongue.

  Filthy words poured from Dent as Dent moved, rocked between his mouth and his fingers. It was beautiful to see and feel Dent give in to his needs without a single word of protest. Lutrell pushed one finger into Dent's hole, his mouth tightening.

  Seed pulsed into his lips, Dent's need sharp on his tongue. He swallowed it all down, Dent's come warming his belly.

  He licked and nibbled, cleaning Dent. Dent's cheek was soft against his thigh, warm. He could feel each of Dent's breaths against his cock, and his own matched them almost without thought as they lay quietly together.

  Dent sighed softly, the breath tickling his skin. Luttrell's fingers slid over skin, not letting Dent have a moment without his touches, without him. He knew each time Dent blinked from the brush of the long eyelashes.

  "You're enjoying your time here.” It wasn't a question. He knew it to be true. Would Dent be willing to admit it to himself yet?

  "Parts of it."

  Luttrell threw back his head and laughed. “Oh, Dent. I have so enjoyed having you."

  "Yes, but you're quite mad.” Was that a smile?

  "But I'm not angry at all,” he teased.

  Oh. A laugh from Dent. It drew out his own, and he was entirely charmed. He shifted and wriggled so they were face to face. He traced Dent's lingering smile with his tongue. Dent's eyes were closed, but the man wasn't sleeping, wasn't even faking sleep. They breathed the same air for awhile, his fingers moving constantly on Dent's skin.

  Dent stretched, began shifting. Luttrell was surprised, pleasantly so, to have Dent move with purpose against him, initiating more than just the lazy touching.

  "You have so much to give,” he murmured. So much to learn and such need to acknowledge.

  "I have to get back to work, to my life."

  "Not until tomorrow morning. You are mine until then.” One day this would be Dent's life. “Besides. You don't like your work, but this you do like."

  "You aren't supposed to like your work.” Dent shook his head, refusing to meet his eyes.

  "No?” He chuckled. “I love mine, Dent. Love it."

  "Yes, but we've already discovered that you're quite mad."

  He stuck his tongue out at Dent. Mad. Him. Just because he enjoyed life. “You don't mean that."

  "I don't?” That was almost a smile from Dent, almost.

  "There's a difference between happy and crazy, Dent. And if you were happier, you would understand that.” He chuckled, sliding his body against Dent's strength. “Maybe you need another lesson."

  "I'm fine where I am."

  "But are you happy where you are?"

  "What?” Dent's eyes opened, staring at him.

  "You said you were fine where you are. Is that good enough? Fine?” He shook his head. “I do not want my life to simply be ‘fine.’”

  "I am wea
lthy. Strong. It has to be enough."

  "Why? You could have so much more!” Luttrell couldn't understand settling. Especially that a man like Dent might.

  "How much more would you have me work?"

  Luttrell laughed, honestly tickled. “No, Dent. I would have you enjoy your life!"

  "You are altogether too focused on being happy.” The dark brows lowered. “We are here to work, to succeed."

  "Pshaw! Says who?” The poor man! No wonder Dent was so closed off and didn't know himself.

  "Anyone. Everyone.” Dent shrugged, trying to hide away, pull away from him.

  He pressed closer, hands going to Dent's cheeks, not letting the man hide away. “We work to live, we don't live to work. Unless we love what we do.” He licked at Dent's lips. “You must learn to play, my dear. You must learn to take time to laugh."

  "I don't have time, Luttrell. I never will.” So much sorrow.

  "You do not make the time, Dent.” He waved one of his hands in the general direction of his apartment. “Here is a place where you have the time. Here, you may laugh."

  "Does that mean we can simply relax here? No more fighting? No more time in the chair?"

  He laughed again. “Ah, but that is where I will teach you the greatest joys. And we have plenty of time for another session.” His hand pushed down between them, taking Dent's firming prick and squeezing. “And you are not as adverse to the idea as you would like to pretend."

  Dent growled a bit. “We were having such a peaceful day. Don't push."

  "It is my job to push, my dear. And I not only enjoy my job very much, I am very good at it.” He stood and held out his hand. “I think, in fact, it is time for another session.” If only to prove to Dent that Dent himself was not in charge here.

  "Don't do this. I've enjoyed you, so much."

  "You want it, Dent.” And if he gave in now, Dent would think him weak and never come back. Taking Dent's hands in his, he tugged firmly.

  "No. I want to relax. To sit.” Dent's lips tightened, chin set stubbornly.

  "You will relax. And lie down.” He winked and chuckled, keeping it light even as he tugged harder. He knew he was deceptively thin, and sure enough, Dent came up, obviously not having credited his strength.

  "Luttrell.” He could hear Dent's breath speeding up, the fight about to begin yet again. Dent's denial ran very deep. It would take all his will to get past it. Luckily, he had plenty of stubbornness of his own.

  Chuckling, he patted Dent's cheek. “Yes, my dear, that is my name."

  "Don't patronize me.” Anger flared in those eyes along with a vague fear.

  "Then don't make me drag you back down the hall.” He pushed close again, taking a hard kiss, tongue pushing into Dent's mouth.

  Dent stiffened, body fighting him even as his warm, kiss-swollen lips opened, parted.

  He pressed his advantage, walking them down the hall as his tongue invaded Dent's mouth, distracting the man with the rub of their bodies together.

  Dent stopped at the door, forehead against his. “Don't do this."

  "You need it, my dear. You want it, somewhere inside yourself."

  "No. No, I just want to relax."

  He chuckled and drew Dent into the room. The man had a safeword and knew very well how to use it. “You will not easily forget me,” he insisted.

  "No, I will not.” Dent's eyes clung to his, holding them together in the moment.

  "Yes, Dent. I have willed it, and so shall it be.” He stroked one of Dent's cheeks, then led him to the chair. “One more time, one more night of sleep together, and you will be gone."

  But Dent would not forget. And he would come back.

  Chapter Four

  Dent stayed away for nearly a quarter, working furiously, making more creds in a few cycles than he had in a decade. He worked until he couldn't stand to go another day, couldn't bear the dreams, the need, the longing any longer.

  Then, he headed back to the Glove, growling at the doorman and at security as he headed upstairs.

  A soft giggle greeted him as he stepped off the elevator. Familiar. The sound that had haunted all his dreams. Dent shuddered, cock throbbing suddenly.

  Lutrell was at his door, leaning on the wall next to it, grinning like a loon. “Oh, they said you'd arrived home. I knew you'd come here first instead of where you really wanted to go. But I thought that for once I could come to you."

  He didn't answer, his hands just opening and closing over and over. He'd dreamed, so often...

  Lutrell chuckled. “And here I'd had a dream that you'd become less stubborn while you were gone. My place or yours, my dear?"

  "You dreamed of me, too?” He'd run all over the galaxy, lost thirty pounds. Driven himself mad.

  "I didn't have the man himself on my table. I had to amuse myself somehow.” Lutrell considered him and straightened, away from the wall, coming to link a hand around his arm. “My place. You need this."

  "I...” He closed his eyes, leaned into the touch. No. Not needed. He wanted.

  "Yes, you.” Lutrell walked him back to the elevator, the doors sliding closed behind them with barely a sound.

  Vibrating. Dent was vibrating, aching and shaking in his skin.

  Lutrell pushed him up against the lift wall, laughing softly. “So stubborn. You should have come back sooner."

  Then Dent's mouth was covered, Lutrell's laughter pushing right into him. Oh. He groaned, meeting the kiss full-on, their tongues driving against each other. Lutrell's fingers opened his pants, one long-fingered hand sliding in and wrapping around his prick.

  "Yes.” His hips jerked, fucking Lutrell's hand, desperate, hungry.

  The lift stopped, the doors opening. “We'll finish this first,” Lutrell told him, eyes on his, hand working with him, increasing the pleasure.

  He nodded, lips open, pressing against Lutrell. Don't stop.

  Lutrell didn't, tongue fucking his mouth now, mouth as hot and insistent as the hand on his cock. Dent arched as he shot, hands holding Lutrell close.

  Lutrell broke their kiss to paint Dent's lips with his own come, which Lutrell then licked off with slow flicks of his tongue.

  Dent's moan sounded loud to him, needy. “You haunt me."

  Lutrell's chuckle was soft. “That is your own fault, my dear. You should have come home sooner. Next time you won't make me wait so long."

  He wouldn't apologize. “I was working."

  There was that giggle again. He was beginning to realize that each of Lutrell's laughs had different meanings.

  Lutrell tucked him back into his pants and took his arm again, leading him out of the lift and toward Lutrell's rooms. “My stubborn stud."

  "Yours? Are you sure?"

  "Quite sure, actually."

  Lutrell led him through the door and along the familiar hallway, right into the room with the table that had taken a starring role in most of his dreams. He followed, not sure whether or not he wanted to be here, but knowing he was going to be.

  His clothes were removed without a single word.

  "Tell me,” Lutrell finally asked as Dent was encouraged to lie back on the table. “What part of our time together did you dream of the most?"

  "I ... I...” He swallowed and shook his head, panicky. “I keep ... I can't remember.” All he remembered were those eyes, the sensations of not having to be in control, of not having to be right.

  "That's all right, my dear. You don't have to remember, because I do. Oh, I really do.” Lutrell laughed, hands busy tying him down to the table.

  "Do you?” He pulled against the bonds, needing to know he couldn't get free. Bastard, making him think this way. He didn't want this.

  "Indeed. I do.” Lutrell hummed softly now, spreading Dent's legs wide. “I remember the ritual. Do you remember the ritual, Dent? What happens first?"

  He nodded. What always happened first. “I remember.” He craved it.

  "Good. Good.” That soft laughter filled the air, seemed to warm it. “I l
ike this part a lot.” Lutrell's cloth began to slide over his skin.

  He didn't moan; he didn't, but he couldn't help how it eased him. He was washed from head to toe, the soapy cloth not missing any part of him. Then the soap was washed away, his body dried. The alcohol swab was next, cooling his skin, leaving behind a promise. It tingled, all over, every inch of skin. It felt amazing. Made him feel alive.

  He tugged at the bonds, groaned. “I don't ... I can't think."

  Lutrell cackled. “You don't need to think, my dear. You don't need to think at all.” The gloves went on, the latex snapping around Lutrell's wrists.

  "How do you know...” His cock throbbed, ached.

  "Because I do.” Lutrell picked up a piece of tubing, showed it to him. “This one is wider than the one we used last time. Just a little bit."

  His stomach clenched; he shook his head. “Don't do this."

  "This one,” giggled Lutrell, “has a different tip. You see how this is flared slightly? Extra sensation, a little stretch for you."

  "You ... you enjoy your work too much."

  One of Lutrell's fingers slid against his ass hole, rubbed. “Don't you enjoy your work, Dent?"

  "No.” He hated it. The thought was sudden and sharp, surprising him.

  "Oh, I am sorry, my dear.” Lutrell stroked his thigh gently, the touch comforting. Then that finger returned to his hole, this time pushing in, slow and slick.

  His eyes closed, his body trying to decide whether to fight or accept that touch.

  "I do enjoy my work, but not too much. I don't think you can enjoy this too much.” That finger slid in and out, seeming to go deeper each time it penetrated him.

  Dent's thighs shook, trying to spread, to close, to do something.

  "Another finger now, Dent. Just the two.” The stretch increased, Lutrell slowly working two fingers inside him. “One day you'll take my hand."

  He moaned, the thought of that overwhelming and uncomfortable and unnerving.

  "Not today,” giggled Lutrell. “We'll work up to it."