by A. F. Henley
Doren
He lay on the mattress in silence, smiling. He'd talked August into his room and tossed August a pillow and blanket for the couch, not even broaching the idea that August crawl into bed beside him. Just so they didn't have to be alone, Doren had said, keeping the "just so the night doesn't have to end yet" to himself. But as August slept, Doren could not.
He wished he knew that if he crawled over to the couch and slid in beside August again that he'd be well received. As sweet as the thought was, with the afternoon's activities fresh in his mind, Doren knew he'd never try anything like that again. To sneak August's attention was nothing in comparison to having August want him. To have August respond, pant, groan for him … that was unfathomable. Nothing else would ever be enough again. He flipped on to his back and searched for August's sound; and there in the web-thick, confusing distance of one who slept, Doren caught the pulse, the charge of August's dream. He followed August's symphony, the chords of awkward chaos to the stumbling tempo of entertained interest, until it became a crescendo that was slick with excitement, hot with promise, and Doren barely needed to touch himself to find completion.
The sound of August's mind did it for him.
Here I
Am
August
Odd, August thought, how quiet the night could be when one found themselves awake smack dab in the middle of it.
Something had found him, and nudged him out of the sumptuous depths of his subconscious. Which was a damn shame; his dreams had been filled with sparkling dance floors, deep blue eyes, and lips that felt like magic. August sought out the bed from his perch on the couch and saw it was empty—crumpled blankets tossed to one side, pillow lying in the middle of the mattress. He waited for his eyes to adjust and scanned the rest of the room, only noticing the flicking drapes in front of the balcony window when he'd confirmed with an edge of panic that the room was, indeed, quite void of Doren's body.
With a groan and a stretch, August sat up and grabbed a hoodie from the back of a dining room chair, slipping it over the tuxedo shirt he still wore. The room was cool—damp, dreary air billowing through the drapery. He shivered, but pulled the cloth aside to peer out at the night beyond. Doren leaned against the railing, one foot tucked between the rods, the other planted firmly and stretched out. It gave Doren a long and lean look, his muscles like cut marble underneath smooth skin that seemed oblivious to the cold. Streetlights cast dark shadows behind him, and the blackened shape had an almost demonic look: his low-slung shoulders sharpened into points and hooks; his lowered head, hair tousled from sleep, morphed into horns within his shadowed self. August's smile pulled into a frown, wisps of dreams meandering out from the depths of his psyche to try and paint incomprehensible messages with invisible ink. Something in August's belly told him to back up, to refuse to see. "Better yet," it whispered anxiously. "Run. Run away and never look back."
Just a play of the light, he thought, stupid mind games in a half-awake brain. As if on cue, as if it had waited for August to come to that conclusion, there was a break in the clouds—a small quick relief from the rain—and the moon drew out of the black to have a look at the Earth. In the time it took for the light to find the balcony, Doren's shadow shifted. From the horned demon rose a vision of wings that unfurled with the light, an opposing figure to its predecessor: angelic, powerful, and beautiful. Doren turned; illumination caught his face and the brilliance was almost breathtaking.
The sound that left August's throat was part shock, part awe, and the moment August uttered it, the moon fled, taking the vision with it.
"I woke you," Doren said, his voice all but lost to the sudden increase in rain. "I'm sorry."
August couldn't stop watching him.
Doren's brow creased in concern. "Are you all right?"
He nodded. Swallowed. "Just half asleep still, I guess."
Their gazes locked. "Ah, fuck, August." There was pain in Doren's tone and August was too out of it to figure out where it came from. "You're doing it again."
Another breath. Another swallow. "What am I do—"
Doren didn't answer. He leaned in and met August's mouth with his own.
Doren
How did August manage to do that every single time? That look of ... God, he didn't even know what it was. Something simple, something honest—something Doren didn't see in very many sets of eyes these days. So he walked the tightrope of kissing August, waiting for the inevitable crash of getting pushed away and August stayed true to expectations, backing off almost immediately and folding arms over chest with tightened lips and a frown.
He couldn't stop the rush of sighed air from leaving his lungs any more than he could stop the annoyance from falling on his face. So rather than watch August get flustered by him, Doren turned away and leaned against the wet railing, letting the rain cool the heat of emotion out of his body.
"I'm sorry, Doren," August mumbled. "I just can't."
There was no point in answering. What difference would it make? What control did he have over any of this? He was the puppet on the proverbial string; dancing to whatever song August wanted him to at any given moment.
"Doren?" August's touch was light on his back but Doren kept his eyes closed and his hands firmly on the railing. "I really am sorry. I don't mean to hurt you."
He lifted his face into the rain, chuckling. "Hurt me? My God, Auggie; it feels like you're trying to kill me."
"Yeah, well, better you than me I guess."
Doren's chuckle darkened into a sound far more hollow. "Is that what all this drama is about, Aug? You're afraid I'm going to break your heart?"
August didn't reply until Doren looked over at him. His smile was sad and his tone made Doren weak with something that felt too close to shame. "Doren, I don't think you're going to break my heart. I know you're going to break my heart."
"Why don't you trust me?" The hurt in Doren's voice was loud even to his own ears.
Green eyes shone like stars when August answered, "I don't know."
Doren didn't know how to respond to that; didn't really know if he should even try. "I thought you'd be different, Aug. I really did. I didn't expect you to fall at my feet. Although it would have been nice …" He grinned at August but shook his head. "But for some reason I thought you were going to understand me better than the rest of them."
August leaned alongside him and they both stared out at the downpour. "That's the problem, Doren. I do."
"Would it help if I told you that I like you?" He lifted his hand and traced August's gripping knuckles with a single fingertip. "That I like you a whole hell of a lot, in fact?"
He wasn't expecting August's, "Yes." He wasn't about to let it go unproven though. Doren straightened, caught August's chin when August followed suit in surprise, and in two steps had August's back against the sliding glass door and their lips close enough that he could taste August's breath.
"I like you," he repeated. "A lot."
The sigh that August breathed against his skin wasn't just acquiescence—it was a white flag, a surrender. "Don't you hurt me."
Doren caught his gaze, confused.
"And I don't mean my body, Doren. I know what it feels like to get fucked even if I haven't actually done it. I'm not worried about that. I mean … don't you fucking hurt me. I'm a good person. I don't deserve it. And I won't forgive you if you do."
It took longer for the light to go off in Doren's head than it should have. When it did, he couldn't keep the surprise off his face. "You've never …"
August shook his head.
"Like … ever?"
"Not with a person."
Okay, Doren told himself. That's not a big deal. That's not even a complication. It's almost hot, even. New territory. Fresh. Unspoiled. Sweet. Mine … And on that final word, Doren's mind shut down the rest. He reached around August's waist and pulled August's body tight against his own. "You're not just with a person," he said. "You're with me."
August huffed,
Doren began to walk, holding August's attention, prompting emotion with his eyes. "Listen …" and the word wasn't spoken, it was said in thought alone, but he saw it shiver through August's body anyway.
Through the door, his pause only to pull it behind him and wait for the "snick" of the lock that August didn't notice wasn't done with fingers, past the curtains, and towards the bed; his moves were as cautious and slow as the hand of a trainer leading an unknown animal.
"I just want to touch you, Auggie. Maybe see you. It doesn't need to be anything more than that, all right?"
August sat on the bed, hard, his eyes boring into Doren's. "This is probably a bad idea."
"Nah," Doren smiled, "don't overthink it." Actually, stop thinking, he wanted to say. Clear your mind altogether.
From there it was an orchestra of movement: August put his arms back to pull himself further on to the bed and Doren used the free space to catch August's waistband. While August went still, Doren flicked the slide button with his thumb and slowly, methodically, painstakingly cautiously, drew the zipper down.
"Shift back," he said, both hands on the flaps of the tuxedo pants and as August moved to submit to the request, Doren lowered August's slacks. August's breath was a rush of strings, insistent in rhythm but sweet in tone, and it drove Doren forward as much as the sight of August's cock thickening slowly in the cool air of the hotel room.
Doren was just about to crawl on to the mattress when he was stopped. "No. You."
It took him a second to catch on—thought never did well when sound started to take over—but when he did, Doren stood back up and removed his shirt. He did it slowly, a tease, enjoying the way August watched him. An erotic, almost frantic beat picked up in August's chest when Doren dropped his fingers to the front of his jeans and traced the outline of his hard-on. He reached his other hand out while the one worked open his pants, lacing their fingers together when August took his suggestion. He pulled August's hand towards him, pulling a hard breath through his nose when August's timid fingers encircled him, leaning forward to push August back and move over top.
Straddling August's thighs, Doren found August's dick with his hand as well, holding himself up with one arm and locking their gazes together. "You feel nice," he said, not even bothering to question the cheesiness of the phrase, not bothering to explain that it had nothing to do with the feel of August's palm sliding over him, not a thing to do with August's cock in his hand. It was everything else: the way August's body heat warmed him up as though a furnace, August's heartbeat and the resonance it caused throughout the entire room, the music. God … the music. The power in it. The need.
"Don't stop," August asked. "Please …"
He hadn't even noticed he had. Doren drew himself back from the depths of wherever he'd been and increased the pressure and friction of his stroke, inspiring August to do the same until they were both thrusting their hips into one another's fist, thighs trembling as each one waited for the other to find completion first.
"Now?" August asked, the word more plea than question.
"Now," Doren agreed. Whose body reacted more violently Doren couldn't say. While August's surged over his knuckles, his own pumped over August's, two releases meeting in random patterns over the pretty white tuxedo shirt on August's torso.
Black tie, Doren decided, had never looked so fine.
August
Doren rolled to the side and stared at the ceiling. Enter the awkward silence, August mused. He wanted to be bold, wanted to reach out and run his fingers over Doren's chest—test the feel of the muscles that shone with sweat—but he was just too shy.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
August smiled at the ceiling. "Tell you what?"
"Be serious." Doren turned on to his side and put a hand on August's chest, mirroring the touch August was playing through mentally; undoing the buttons of August's soiled shirt. "I wouldn't have pressured you so hard if I knew you were … well, you know."
Traces of electric excitement lit Doren's skin when the fabric was brushed aside. "Liar."
"All right, maybe," Doren agreed with a smirk. He leaned forward to press a kiss on the soft spot between August's shoulder and collarbone. "But I would have pressured nicely." Doren dragged his hand down he spoke, trailing his fingertips down August's torso. Fever flared in August's body all over again.
Then it was Doren's mouth, sliding from shoulder to chest, locating the sensitive skin of August's nipple, and causing August's words to shake when he spoke. "Oh, I don't know. I thought you were being pretty nice."
He moved further south, kissing a line of intensity as he did, finally breathing words over the head of August's cock. "I could have been nicer." Doren's tongue reached out to taste leftover release, and sensation, more visually inspired that physical, exploded through August's body—soft began to rise to hard all over again.
Doren didn't stop; not when the tension stole all words from August's throat, or when the slick suction of tongue and throat spirited away August's ability to breathe properly. It wasn't until August thrust with his hips, meeting Doren's swallow and gasping, his whole body trembling with a lighter, but just as enjoyable, second orgasm that Doren rose and smiled. "See? I told you I could have been nicer."
"That was pretty nice," August agreed.
"Yeah, well. I felt bad."
August wet his lips, still panting. "Too bad to let me try that on you?"
Doren grinned and flumped on to his side beside August. "No, definitely not that bad."
Doren
"August?" He nudged August's ribcage as the knocking persisted. "Are you awake?"
August groaned and stretched, arching his back off the mattress, the blankets falling to expose his still naked body to the air. Suddenly the last thing Doren wanted to do was get out of bed.
"Do I look awake to you?" he asked sleepily, digging at his eyes with both fists.
The knock came again, harder. "There's someone at the door."
August groaned again, dropping his forearm over his face. "Can't you make them go away?"
A voice they both recognized instantly called through the door and Doren clucked his tongue in disgust. "I sincerely doubt it." With a pout he gave August a light kiss before August dragged himself out of bed and hustled, naked, back to his own room.
"Give me a minute, Anton." Doren tugged on his jeans and ran his fingers through his hair, languishing in the fact that he could still taste August on his lips and smell August's cologne on his skin. He took a long, lazy look in the mirror and smirked at his own reflection. Everywhere he looked he could imagine August: lips teasing skin, August's body rubbing friction against his own, the way August's hair felt as it brushed against him. "You better not be staying long," he grumbled at yet another impatient knock.
With a tug of annoyance he opened the door and glared into the hallway. "Do you have any idea what time it is?"
Anton smiled brightly. "For goodness sake, Doren, it's almost ten a.m.!"
"And what part of my lifestyle would make you think that would be a reasonable hour for me to be up and around?"
Anton stepped into the room, uninvited, and waved at the couch that still held the abandoned pillow and blanket. "Were you sleeping on the couch? Is something wrong with the bed?"
"For part of the night, yes, if that's any of your business. What do you want?" He pulled the coffeepot off the machine and stared at it blankly. "You know how to make this?"
Anton lifted his eyebrow. "Uh, no. I can call room service if you'd like?"
Frowning, Doren walked over to the adjoining door and knocked. "Aug? Are you up? Can you come over and make coffee?"
"Oh, that's convenient, isn't it?" Anton smirked. "Did you arrange for that?"
Doren shot Anton a dark look. "No. Diana booked the rooms. And yes, it is convenient. Especially when I want fucking coffee."
A loud click echoed through the room and then another as August locked and then unlocked the door in the pretense of it hav
ing been locked in the first place. He hoped Anton hadn't caught the subtle, but obvious faux pas of the door being unfettered.
"You don't keep your side locked?"
Doren shrugged. "Why would I?"
Anton returned the gesture. "True enough."
August stepped through the doorway, haphazardly dressed but with his hair still delightfully disarrayed and a flush on both cheeks. He looked good enough to eat. Literally.
"Oh, dear," Anton said with exaggerated concern. "It looks like I got both of you out of bed." His gaze flipped between both of their faces, then once again. "Did you two have a nice time after you left the gala?"
Doren caught Anton's eye with a sneer. Heat rushed up his neck and his words came out with far more of a hiss than he'd tried for. "Anton, you have met my assistant, right? August? You are aware that August is, in fact, my assistant?" Anton looked at Doren, confused. "I just wanted to make sure. I couldn't quite tell from your question but for a minute there I thought maybe you had confused him with some kind of a whore."
Anton grinned, then caught himself. "Ah! You misunderstood the statement most definitely. I didn't mean anything hidden, just a simple inquiry as to your evening once you left the event. I swear." He held up both hands in a gesture of surrender. "August, my friend, I apologize if that sounded untoward. I didn't realize it would come across as crass until Doren corrected me."
August didn't reply. He merely nodded when Doren reached out with the coffeepot and an unspoken plea. Doren waited an extra second before releasing it so August would look up and catch his eye. When their gazes caught he smiled and August returned it, lowering his eyes before anyone could see the pink creeping over his skin. And just like that he wanted August back in his bed again; then and there. And the thought of Anton sitting in the room, preventing it with presence alone, spiked unreasonable anger in Doren's mind. "Why are you here, Anton? What do you need? Would you mind getting to it so I can go back to sleep?"
