Velvet Need

by Sean Michael

  "I hope you're right. I ... I'm tired of this. Of me."

  "It won't be easy. In fact, I think it will be very hard. But I don't believe you're afraid of hard work."

  "No. No, that's the last thing I'm afraid of.” Work he at least understood.

  "Of course, it's what we're working on that might make you stumble.” Bertoli chuckled softly. “I think it's time we went into the bedroom and hid from it all for a few hours so that you can face it fresh in the morning."

  Dent nodded, thankful, knees almost weak. “Yes. I ... I'll hold you."

  "I would like that. I like your touch.” His hand was taken, Bertoli leading him yet again.

  Eventually it would have to stop. Just ... not tonight.

  Chapter Eight

  Lutrell put together a breakfast tray of fruit, toast, sausages, and glasses of Dent's favorite juice. He tried not to sigh, tried not to let Dent's hiding get him down. His lover needed space and time, needed to be comfortable.

  Maybe he was giving Dent too much time.

  He didn't know. That was a very unusual place for him. His confidence seemed to have deserted him.

  Instead of taking the tray into the bedroom, he went to the comm and punched in Mal's number. “Mal?"

  Those icy eyes met his, sure and pale as his own. “Lutrell. What's wrong?"

  "I...” He took a breath. If he could not ask for help when he needed it, how could he expect Dent to open up and look to him? “I am worried about Dent."

  "Can you come to me, or should I come to you?"

  "I cannot leave him.” He considered. Dent rarely woke up on his own. Odds were he wouldn't today and need never know anyone was in the apartment. “If it's not too much trouble, a few minutes of your time..."

  "I'll be there in five.” The comm went blank.

  Lutrell went to the bedroom to check on Dent, and to get dressed. He would rather not meet Mal in the nude. Dent was sound asleep, curled under the blankets, hiding. Silent. His beautiful, strong man. And he was at a loss how to help him. He'd lost his way somewhere as surely as Dent had.

  He quickly pulled on a pair of scrubs, the soft, loose material comfortable, and made his way back out to the living room, waiting for Mal's knock.

  The tap was quiet, but sure, Mal carrying a tray full of pastries and sweet wine. Oh, Mal was good to him, truly.

  "Invite me in, Lutrell."

  "Come in, come in.” He pulled the door wide and closed it again behind his friend. “The kitchen is quiet, clean.” The furthest from the bedroom.

  They settled together, Mal quiet and respectful, pouring them both a glass of wine and then waiting for him to talk.

  He took a sip of the wine and a bite of a pastry. “Oh, very good,” he murmured, picking up the crumbs and depositing them on the tray. He cleared his throat. “I am worried Dent is going to hide inside himself forever."

  "He could. He would be safer there.” Mal took a drink. “Is he healed in his body?"

  "Yes. Evil as his wounds looked, they were for the most part superficial. His body has been detoxified from the drugs he'd been given and his weight, while still lower than it was, is no longer dangerously low.” He sat forward. “I know that he needs to be pushed, now, to be forced to look at what happened to him and to move past it."

  "And yet?” Mal held his eyes, listening, offering him strength, support.

  "I keep hesitating, backing off, letting him hide."

  "Why? Is he angry with you?"

  "No. No, but...” And then it came to him, as clearly as if Mal had spelled it out. “But I'm worried he will be. I'm worried he will resent me for it.” He shook his head. “I have been so selfish, guarding my own heart, worrying about my own needs while he suffers."

  "No. Not selfish. Scared.” Mal smiled. “He needs to be able to know that he can be angry, that he can rage and feel, Lutrell. That you are strong enough to bring him back home.” Those eyes stared into him. “That you love him enough to fight him."

  "I do. I will not let him fade away."

  Mal's eyes crinkled at the corners. “Remember how he fought before. I remember Dent. How sensual he was, how he fought and then accepted, allowed you inside. Remind him that you believe in him."

  "Yes. I pushed and I pushed and found his beauty, his need, exposed him to it.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, a weight coming off his shoulders. “I can do this."

  "Of course you can. You were born to do this."

  He grinned and opened his eyes, meeting Mal's gaze head on. A laugh escaped from him. “I was born to do this. Thank you, my friend. I knew you were the one I needed to talk to."

  "I'm glad.” Mal ate a pastry, nose wrinkling a bit at the sweetness. “I'll leave you to your work. Good luck."

  He chuckled and stood, giving Mal a warm handshake. “Thank you, Mal. It was good to see you."

  "Yes. You've been too isolated, my friend. You may have to return to life for your own sake."

  "I have every confidence that soon we will both return to life. At least I do now.” He laughed again, seeing Mal to the door.

  Mal winked. “It is nice to hear your laugh. Good day."

  Still chuckling, he closed the door behind Mal and re-engaged the lock.

  Feeling renewed and invigorated, confident once more in what he needed to do to help Dent, in who he needed to be, he made his way once more to the bedroom they shared. “Time to wake up, my dear."

  Dent frowned, eyes fluttering. “Already?"

  He chuckled and sat on the edge of the bed, stroking Dent's skin and pulling the sheets firmly away. “Already? It's nearly ten o'clock, my dear. Breakfast is ready and waiting for you in the kitchen."

  Dent hummed, moving closer, hands sliding around his waist. “You're dressed."

  "Yes, I had a visitor. But I think I shall leave my clothes on while we eat and while we do our scene. You may remain naked.” He bent and took a kiss, moaning at the heat of Dent's mouth.

  Dent pulled back from the kiss, eyes worried. “A visitor? I ... I didn't hear them..."

  "No. You were asleep and I didn't want to wake you. I invited Mal to share a few moments of my day. No one will hurt you while I watch over you, my dear. Whether you are aware of their presence or not."

  "I'm not worried about me."

  He chuckled softly. “No one will hurt me either, Dent. Not here. The Glove is a safe place."

  "I know that in my head.” Dent sighed and stood, heading for the bathroom, stretching and twisting.

  Lutrell followed, leaning against the doorway. “Just the basics today, no bath. We have work to do."

  "Work?” Dent looked over at him, unnerved. “What work?"

  "In our room.” He laughed softly. “Good work. Fun work. You and I together. Beginning with our ritual."

  "Oh.” The look in Dent's eyes was bittersweet, but he did get a smile, an honest smile, and a wink. “I could just bathe."

  He laughed. “Where would the fun in that be?"

  The smile got a little wider, Dent washing his face at the sink and brushing his teeth. “I'm sure I could find some fun."

  He chuckled. “I'm sure you could as well, my dear, but we aren't doing that.” No more hiding. He needed to get back to the job of uncovering the things Dent had buried. For both of them.

  Dent was unnerved, worried, stealing curious looks. So perceptive, so focused.

  He took one of Dent's hands, squeezed gently, but didn't back off at all, just led Dent into the room with the table. He had the light on brighter today, making sure Dent would know that he was the focus of their work together. Not a part of it, but the star.

  He helped Dent to climb up onto the table, hands smoothing over the warm skin. “Are you ready, my dear?"

  "I'll try to be.” Every time the panic was less, the cuffs easier to take. Which meant they were moving forward. He reminded himself of that, and of the fact that before Dent had been kidnapped, he had reveled in pushing the man, in searching out the hidden desires
and needs.

  "Good. Good.” He rubbed Dent's right wrist and then slid the cuff around it, closing it tightly around the tender skin.

  He could see Dent's breath speed, see the pulse quicken as Dent's eyes closed.

  "You may close your eyes, but I want you to pay attention. I want you to feel the cuffs, the cloth as I wash you, the head of the tubing as I clean you inside."

  There would be no more hiding. If Dent needed to break down, then he would break down. Lutrell would be there to catch him.

  "I do pay attention, Bertoli. I feel you."

  He laughed softly. “Oh, yes. You do. And do you feel yourself, Dent?” He set the cuff around Dent's left wrist looser than the one around his right.

  "Is that a trick question?” Dent's hand twisted, testing, tugging.

  "No, it is not.” He trailed his hand along Dent's leg and then cuffed first one and then the other ankle, one very tight, one very loose, so that all four cuffs were set differently. They would be harder to deny this way. “I know that you feel me. My touch, my need, my pleasure. Do you feel any of your own?"

  "I ... You know I can't. It doesn't ... I haven't ... You know that."

  "I did not ask if you were aroused. I asked if you felt what was happening to you.” He slid his hand up along the inside of Dent's right leg, fingernails dragging over the soft, sensitive skin near the crease where thigh met body. “Or are you blocking it out?"

  "I'm not. I'm just trying to control myself, to not panic."

  "Perhaps it is time to let a little panic back into your life.” He giggled. “Yes, perhaps. But first our ritual, yes?"

  "I have had enough panic for my entire life."

  "Perhaps I meant lack of control rather than panic.” He bent and bit one hip. “Let go, Dent. Allow yourself to feel."

  He turned and picked up the bowl filled with warm water and the antibiotic soap he used whenever they did this.

  "I don't want to feel again.” The words were incredibly quiet, almost missed.

  "Yes, you do,” he insisted, wetting his cloth. “You are scared to feel again, but you want to. You need to."

  Dent didn't answer, just shifted and moved unconsciously.

  "So lovely. And soon enough your beautiful musculature will be back and everyone who sees you will be aroused.” He stroked the cloth across Dent's nipples, over and over until they began to harden under his constant attention.

  "I...” Dent frowned, shifted away. “I'm scarred."

  "Yes. Badges of honor. They make you that much more fascinating.” He drew the cloth down to Dent's belly, teasing around Dent's navel, staying away from the quiescent cock for now.

  Dent hummed softly, stretching a little, enjoying that touch. It was a start, it was feeling and not denying it. Lutrell hummed too, quite pleased, and moved the cloth to one hip while the fingers of his free hand continued to tease over the sweet belly button. He could see Dent relax, see the strong muscles ease as Dent focused.

  He stretched himself out, continuing to play and tease along the sharp planes of Dent's belly, into the navel, as he cleaned the rest of Dent's body. He actually earned a chuckle or two, a smile. It made him laugh, made him feel alive. “Oh, yes. My Dent is hiding in there, just waiting to come out."

  Cleaning finished, he placed a kiss on the belly he'd been teasing and then took the alcohol swab and quickly completed the ritual. It always made Dent shiver, made goosebumps raise all over. He hummed and laughed softly, enjoying the way Dent's body responded to him. Some things had not changed. It was only a matter of coaxing the rest of Dent's body, and the man's mind, to remember and enjoy.

  "I think a tube with a special head today, yes? One to stretch you, so you know it's there."

  "Special?” Those eyes almost opened. Almost.

  "Yes. A flared head. It will stay seated inside you, stretch you some. It is bigger than the one I have used in the past, has a little ... well. You can look for yourself.” There were small bumps on it, designed to stimulate.

  Dent tugged a little at the cuffs, just a touch. Just enough that he knew Dent was paying attention.

  He hummed, chuckling softly as he got the lube and the tubing ready, caressing the head so that it was warm.

  Dent's motions grew stronger, more desperate, needier.

  He put on his gloves, letting them snap noisily and then slicked up the fingers of his right hand.

  "I ... I want up, Bertoli. I need to sit up."

  He chuckled. “No, no. That's not how it works, my dear. You know that.” He slid his fingers along Dent's crack, not penetrating him yet.

  "I know, but ... I need to sit up."

  "When we're done with this. When I say you can.” He pushed in with one finger, sliding it around and in and out.

  "You're not listening to me."

  "I heard you, my dear. What I'm not doing is letting you up.” He slid a second finger in alongside the first.

  Dent squeezed him, eyes opening to look at him. “Why?"

  He smiled into Dent's eyes. “Because we're doing this right now. I am giving you what you need."

  "Who came to see you earlier?"

  "Are you trying to distract me, my dear?” he asked, fingers searching, finding and sliding over Dent's gland.

  Dent jerked, eyes huge, suddenly panicked. “Stop. Bertoli. Please. Not that. Not yet.” The quiet heavy cock jerked, beginning to stir.

  His laughter was delighted—so lovely to see that. “Oh, I think it's more than time.” He slid his fingers across Dent's gland again and then again.

  Dent's toes clenched, eyes squeezed tight as the man fought to control himself, to breathe. So caught up inside. His dear Dent.

  He continued to push against the small gland, his other hand cupping Dent's balls, trying to keep Dent here and now and feeling.

  Dent's body began to respond, slowly, tentatively, but the response was there, sweet.

  He continued for some moments, giggling happily.

  "What ... what's funny?"

  "Not funny, my dear. Happy.” He bent to lick at Dent's prick, encouraging the response that had begun.

  "I'm not ready. What if it doesn't ... What if I can't..."

  "You are ready and it doesn't matter if you can't.” He bent and whispered in Dent's ear. “Just let it go. Just feel."

  Dent turned to stare at him, those beautiful eyes so wide. “I can't, love. I can't. Not without all the rest coming out."

  "Then let it out."

  "No. No. That ... It's over. Don't you understand that? I won't remember again. It's finished."

  "Not remembering is killing you inside, diminishing you.” He pushed his fingers deep and then pulled them out, placing the head of the tubing against Dent's hole.

  "I can't. I'm not ready yet."

  "So you said.” He pushed gently, sliding the tip into Dent's body.

  Dent's legs trembled, shaking as his body spread.

  "You can do this, my dear.” He laughed softly as the wide head moved into Dent's body. “See?"

  "No. No, I can't, not from here."

  Oh. Oh, the attempt of humor was ... it made his heart swell. He laughed softly. “No, I suppose you can't.” He chuckled some more, making sure the head of the tubing was well-seated. “Here comes the liquid, my dear."

  Dent closed his eyes again, breaths coming slow as Dent tried to relax, accept. Lutrell slid his fingers over Dent's belly, already beginning to massage the muscles as he let the liquid flow through the tubing. “Your body remembers how to do this. Very good, my dear. I'm pleased."

  "I do remember. I ... We have done this. Since..."

  "Yes. Though this is the first time we've done it with the cuffs since you were kidnapped.” It was the first time they would be pushing and doing more. Much more.

  "I know. I do.” Dent tugged at the cuffs, legs and arms both.

  His laughter filled the room. “Yes, I imagine you do.” He checked the flow; Dent couldn't take too much more, just a little bit.

>   "Full. Bertoli.” Dent's toes curled, heart pounding visibly.

  "Yes. Just a drop or two more.” He pushed Dent as far as he dared and then stopped the flow. “All right, you know what comes next. I'll remove the tubing and you'll hold the liquid in."

  Dent's skin was sheened with sweat, eyes squeezed shut.

  "You're doing so well. Making an excellent start to our day.” He gently pulled on the tubing. “Hold tight now, no letting go until I allow it."

  "No. No, I won't. I can't.” No, his Dent held things too long, even if it hurt.

  "There, now. Let me get rid of this and open the table for when you release.” He made short work of that task and took a moment to just look at Dent. The man was still too thin but he looked good, he looked right, spread out on Lutrell's silver table. The room was stark, Dent his shining bright star.

  Dent wasn't still, was shivering and shaking, trying to control himself.

  "Keep holding it. Don't let go.” He slid his hands along Dent's skin, toes to head, just touching.

  "I won't.” Dent whimpered, teeth sinking into his bottom lip.

  "Would you hold it forever if I asked, my dear?"

  "I'd try."

  "You'd fail. It is impossible. And I will not ask the impossible of you. Only the possible.” He pressed his lips to Dent's ear. “You may let it go now. Release the unclean."

  "I...” Dent gasped, fingers curling into fists.

  "You have to let go, Dent. Take a breath and focus. Open your body and let go."

  Dent took a shaky breath, then another and another, water rushing from him.

  "Yes. Oh, my dear, you're doing so well. Such a good start.” He turned Dent's face, taking a kiss.

  Dent shuddered, lips open, tongue sliding against his, offering him that sweet surrender. It was a lovely moment and he savored it, exploring the flavors of Dent's caring and need. He would have to keep pushing soon, but this moment was for them.

  Finally, he let the kiss fade. “The sound today, I believe."

  Dent frowned slightly, then eased. Of all the toys Dent had been exposed to, Lutrell knew the plugs and the sounds were the ones most hungered after, most enjoyed. “What if it doesn't feel good? What if I can't perform for you?"