FicWad

Chapter One
The pressures of the day were making his neck hurt, and he knew he should have gone to get a massage, but instead, he walked into the club.
The noise, the colored lights flashing across the huge floor and all the half-naked, shining bodies writhing there, that was going to dispel his stress better than any massage. Terry Hendrickson watched from the balcony, gripping the rail as he continued to watch, unwilling to move toward the ocean of men yet.
His heart wasn’t there. His heart was far away, but his body needed things his heart wouldn’t understand, so he sought out one man in the sea and found he couldn’t settle on any. That was fine, as he loved the sight. Men grinding on one another, kissing on the dancefloor, smiling, flirting, preening. Lovely, all of it.
The waiter came by, a cute, blond young man, asking him if he wanted a drink. Terry didn’t drink much, but tonight, he thought it would be fine. “Vodka tonic, please.”
“Sure.”
He was off and Terry watched him go toward the bar, and smiled at a man there, bare chested, young, probably younger than him. He felt so out of place sometimes, coming to clubs when he was thirty-two years old. He had a career, he had a nice apartment on the seventh floor of a high security, exclusive building near downtown Dallas. Still, he wasn’t happy. And after finding a guy here to take home with him for a sweaty night of sex, once he came, he still wouldn’t be happy.
Terry knew only one thing that would make him happy, and that was a long time coming.
oooOooo
Daniel Knox watched the man at the railing. He was a beautiful specimen, nicely built, dark haired, and if he wasn’t mistaken, had eyes the color of a mountain lake.
The phone wasn’t seen as it raised to take the picture. He zoomed in, snapped it and sent it before anyone could be the wiser. Not that anyone was paying attention. Everyone was in the mood to party, to have sex, to make a human connection, or possibly, like him, to simply watch. That was the biggest part of his job, really, was to watch.
Being on the job kept him from enjoying the company of many of the luscious young men who frequented the places he went to scout. That was the only downside, but there were many perks. Watching, targeting and finding out everything there was to know about those he marked as perfect for placement.
The phone rang, and he answered it without attempting to look, as it could only be a handful of people calling. “Yes?”
“Daniel, he’s perfect. Have you spoken with him?”
It was Ryan Callahan, the High Master of Sin Esperanza. “Not yet, Sir. I’d like to watch a while and possibly find some things out about him first. I’ll set the slave on him, if that pleases you, Sir.”
“Of course. We want him. Do whatever it takes, besides, well, you know.”
“I understand, Sir.”
His next call was to the slave, who was waiting outside in the car. As soon as he answered, Daniel ordered, “Get in here. We have a target.”
Daniel took a small sip of his wine, a terrible wine at that. It hadn’t been allowed to breath and he usually didn’t touch merlot, but that was the only choice of red they had. He smiled, though, when he saw slave Santos, a dark-skinned Latino who was as smooth as polished quartz and just as beautiful.
He found Daniel fast enough, and Daniel nodded in the direction of the target, then watched. Yes, his favorite part was watching.
oooOooo
“Can I get you another drink,” someone said from the side of him, and once he looked to his left to see who it was, he smiled.
“I’m good for now, thank you. Would you like to dance?”
In the colored, moving lights, it was hard to tell if the man was African American or Latino, but either one was fine with him. Besides the one man he loved, he didn’t have a set type. “I’d love to.”
Terry took his hand and led him down the stairs to the dancefloor, turning into his arms as soon as they found a free spot. His hips moved fluidly, but his eyes never left Daniel’s. He had a brilliant smile, sexy, and very seductive. The way he moved, the warmth of his hands on Terry’s waist, he knew that they’d end up in bed together, and most likely sooner than later.
“I’m Santos. What’s your name?” he asked as he leaned in, speaking loud enough to be heard, but blowing a bit of hot breath on his neck after the words were finished.
“Terry,” he replied, closing his eyes to better feel the firm kiss to his throat.
Santos pressed his body closer, his hand moving to the back of Terry’s neck, making him shiver. That had always been his erogenous zone, and only one man had ever discovered it, because it was his as well.
“You dance great,” Santos told him. “I like the way you move.”
“That’s mutual,” he assured.
The song changed to something more upbeat, but they didn’t move any faster, swaying together. When Santos leaned in for the first kiss, Terry closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of a man’s mouth on his, his tongue’s caress, his breath. It had been so long, and he’d missed this. Work was not enough to heal his heart, and this wouldn’t be either. This could heal his body, though, keep it satisfied for a while, and that was as good as it could get.
“Versatile?”
That was a normal question. One everyone that was dancing around them had asked, probably a hundred times. Top, bottom, vers…it was normal, but not for him. He wasn’t, but he’d had to be most of his life. For the two of them to be happy, he’d had to be, but now, he could say, “Not really. I prefer to bottom.”
“I’m versatile, so that’s no problem,” he told Terry, smiling sweetly. Another kiss took away the music, the crowd, the dizzying lights, and there was nothing but the two of them, and their mouths.
Delaying the inevitable seemed like a waste of time, but that was fine too. He had a lot of time to waste. Thirteen and a half years to waste, and to want.
They danced another dance, and then Santos took his hand, leading him away from the dancefloor, up the stairs and to a quieter corner of the bar area. Before he said a word, he kissed Terry again, and this time, Terry kissed back more vigorously, telling him without words that he wanted this, wanted to share his body with him.
Still, he asked, “Your place? I’m here on business, so I have a room.”
It was a little sick, but he preferred his own place. He liked having to go through the chore of cleaning the sheets the next day. Throwing out the bedroom trash with the filled condoms inside the bag. It was strange, he knew that, but it reminded him of times he probably shouldn’t remember. “I have a place. Homier than a motel. More personal.”
“You don’t have to twist my arm. Unless you’re into that,” he said, laughing. “Is it far?”
Santos had taken a cab there, so he let Terry drive them in his Xterra.
“Why are you single?”
The question caught Terry off-guard, but he answered, “I’m not. Not exactly. I don’t really talk about it, though.”
“Sorry, didn’t mean to pry. You have a place you can take me to, so I figured you were.”
Terry smiled and explained, “My…my significant other is away. He won’t be back for a long time.”
“I see. Well, I don’t want to step on any toes, but I’m happy you aren’t keeping yourself celibate.”
“I do, mostly. It’s been over six months.” That made him remember, suddenly. “Shoot. Mind if I stop at the drugstore? I’m…I’m out of condoms.”
“I don’t mind.”
He parked at the all-night pharmacy and got out quickly, running inside the doors. He wasn’t familiar with this store, so it took him a couple of minutes to find the right aisle, but once he did, he reached for the large box, and pulled back his hand. There was no need for many, just to sit on the shelf in his medicine cabinet. Likely, this wouldn’t happen for another six months, so he opted for the small box and headed to the counter.
Once he’d paid, he went outside, and saw Santos on the phone. As he opened the driver’s side door, he heard the tail end of the conversation. “I’ll send you that information soon. I’ll call you in the morning.”
Terry got in, feeling like he’d invaded the man’s privacy. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt you.”
“No, no, it was business. It’s all taken care of now.”
“Are you sure?”
Santos leaned over and kissed him. “I’m sure I want to get to your apartment and fuck you all night long. Is that sure enough?”
Terry smiled wide, his stomach doing a flip over the words. “That’s fantastic.”
As soon as they were in the door, Santos grabbed the bag from the pharmacy and turned around in a circle, pointing around the room. “Is the bedroom there…there…there…”
Terry laughed and grabbed him roughly, pulling him over and laying a deep, sensuous kiss on him. “I’ll lead the way.”
Down the short hall to his bedroom, he brought Santos, not bothering to close the door, though that impulse still grabbed him. Privacy, discretion, secrets…he’d lived his life that way for too long, and would again. Right now, though, he wasn’t worried about any of it.
Santos started to undress him, unbuttoning his shirt and sliding it over his shoulders. “You have a great body.”
That was one thing he could be proud of, his body. He worked on it, maybe not constantly, but enough that it kept his stress and physical needs at bay, and made his body firm and tight. “Thank you.”
His pants were pushed down next, and Terry kicked off his shoes, and stepped out of his pants. His underwear was next, and his body was bared for the man, who stared over him like he was savoring every inch. “Damn. You’re perfect.”
Terry sat on the edge of the bed, shaking his head. “I’m not perfect. Far from it.”
Santos started on his own clothes, taking his shirt off as he whispered, “Not perfect? Well, I guess none of us are perfect, but you are pretty damn close.”
If only he knew, knew all about Terry, and the imperfections, he’d run. He’d glare at him in disgust and he’d run far and fast, but Terry wasn’t about to admit the things he’d done. Not to Santos, and not to anyone else.
He watched the body as the clothes left Santos, and he salivated, the hard chest, rippled stomach, long, nice dick. He had tight little nipples that were a few shades darker brown than the rest of his flesh. No hair except under his arms.
“Are you a model?”
Santos hushed him and pushed him down, bending over him. “No talking. No questions, not now. Pillow talk is for after.”
That was good. No questions, no speaking, telling truths or lies. Nothing revealed. Only their bodies telling each other what was needed and wanted.
“Get up on the bed.”
Terry did exactly that, moving up on the silky comforter, feeling that cool cloth on his heated skin as Santos got the package out of the white plastic bag, the rustle of which seemed like a ballad, wooing him.
That was crazy, and pathetic, but it had been so long since he’d been touched in a loving way. It had been a long time since he’d been touched at all. This was a one night stand, he knew that. He had no illusions of this being more than that. In his heart, if not his body, he’d always be faithful to one man.
Terry reached over to the nightstand to get out the small tube out, handing it over to Santos as soon as the condom was stretched over his cock. He watched intently as the glistening lube was spread over it, making it shine in the dim light from the bedside lamp.
He’d always thought of sex as a ritual, especially the sexual relations between two men. The preparation it took, the time, the purposeful touches that all were needed for the rite to be fulfilled. Santos took his time, as his eyes lit with sexual desire, readying Terry’s body.
It hurt at first, as he’d expected. The pain was minimal, though, to the pleasure, and he was quick to ask him to push in and take him. Santos didn’t rush, letting him stretch in small thrusts, but once he was seated, and Terry was full of him, their mouths clashed in a purely erotic kiss that sent waves of need through him.
It was like the first time, when he’d given himself over to the lust and love he’d felt. It hadn’t been easy, but it had been what he’d needed, and this time reminded him of that. It wasn’t love, and it wasn’t lasting, but he wanted it like he’d wanted it that first time.
Santos was an excellent lover, anticipating his movements and mirroring them. They kissed, touched, breathed together, and Santos didn’t hurry, making slow, easy love to him like they’d been waiting for months for this.
Or for fifteen years.
When Santos came, he made sure he was taken care of, giving him an orgasm that electrified his whole body. He lay next to Terry, kissing his shoulder and bragging, “I gave you all my best moves. I hope you felt as good as you looked.”
Laughing low, Terry assured, “I don’t know how I looked, but I felt good. More than good. Thank you.”
“Thanks? You gave me as much, so no need to thank me. I like that, though. You feel a little submissive to me. That turns me on.”
“I can’t come again right away, I’m not eighteen anymore.”
He realized he didn’t comment on the submissive part. He didn’t think he was. He sure wasn’t at work, but he felt it right then. He’d likely say yes to just about anything the man wanted.
“No, I was looking forward to that pillow talk you promised.”
Again, he laughed. “Did I promise?”
“It felt like a promise. So tell me something about yourself. If you’re not single, why aren’t you with your lover?
That was a hard question, and one he didn’t want to answer. “It’s a long story, and not something I feel like I should talk about, at least not right now. It’s a little painful.”
“Sorry,” Santos said, caressing his face. “I don’t mean to pry. I’m just a people person. I tend to ask too many questions.”
“It’s fine. Listen, maybe a little wine would loosen my tongue, and relax you enough not to ask sticky questions.”
“I’d love some wine. I’ll go with you. I’m also interested in your place, here. It’s nice. You must have a great job.”
Nosy, sure, but with the sex he’d just given Terry, he didn’t mind a bit. He got up and took his robe from behind the door, handing it back to Santos. “Here. I have another in the bathroom.”
“I’m fine being naked, unless you have creepy neighbors.”
“I’m too high up for anyone to see much.”
Terry put his robe on and they left the bedroom, Terry turning on the light in the living room, which mostly illuminated the small kitchen as well, as it sat just to the side of the wide main area. He took a bottle from the decorative wire wine rack on the island. “Is pinot grigio all right?”
“It’s great.”
Santos wandered around the living room, running his fingers over his leather sofa, one that looked good but wasn’t very comfortable. He stood by the bookshelf, where Terry had a few books he loved, but was mostly filled with pictures.
“You’re either a twin or you are really good at Photoshop.”
Terry poured their wine into his stemless glasses and padded over the tiled floor to hand one to him. “I’m a twin. I actually suck at Photoshop.”
“Me too,” Santos confessed, and sighed, “Two of you. Yummy.”
Wishing to change the subject, he asked, “Are you hungry?”
“No, thank you. Maybe after the next time I get you in the bedroom.”
Having no choice but to smile over that, he took Santos’s hand and led him to the couch, pulling him down on it. “This is terribly uncomfortable.”
“Trendy furniture is always uncomfortable. Do you remember those ugly, overstuffed things our parents had? The ones with the giant pastel flowers?”
Terry knew exactly what he meant. “Not my parents, they had one of the wooden armed contraptions with horses and cowboy boots printed on the stiff upholstery. My aunt had the one you’re talking about, though. Man, it was comfortable.”
“I slept on that couch for years. It was better than my bed. My mom hated it, she said I was wearing it out, but I didn’t care. I was better rested for her lectures if I slept on that.”
He was funny, and handsome. Terry figured he had things that weren’t so welcomed, but he’d never be around long enough to discover them. “I never slept on ours. There were never enough pillows to be comfortable on those wooden arms.”
The big windows in front of them showed the lights of the city. Sometimes he hated them, seeing all the signs of other people so close. He would take those times to drive out into the country, to get away from everyone. Ignoring the lights wasn’t an option. He’d wrongly gotten the place for the view, and every room in his home looked out on the city except his bathroom.
“Let’s go back into the bedroom. This wine is making me lightheaded.”
He’d finished his glass anyway, and didn’t want more, so he took Santos’s glass and his into the kitchen and watched Santos move slowly to the bedroom. He walked straight and tall, but that didn’t take away from the way his hips easily swayed, and his steps were languid, like he was made of nothing but water.
Fuck the city lights, that was the kind of view he’d like to see every day.
He followed, letting the robe fall from his back as he went, and once inside, he did close the bedroom door. He felt dirtier that way, and he wanted to feel dirty again. He wanted the touch of this man to feel forbidden.
This time, he was placed on his hands and knees, and he let his head fall between his shoulders as Santos pushed inside him for the second time that night. His eyes closed, he took in a deep breath after hissing the first out, and then he held it, unmoving his entire body so he could allow Santos to set the pace.
He did, and this time it was faster, more frenzied, like he’d been holding back the first time. Unable to stop it, he let out his breath with a huff as he was pounded, and with the air came a high-pitched groaning that didn’t let up until he was forced to inhale again.
Santos held his hips and tore in, but it wasn’t hateful. It had a rhythm that drove them both, and his sounds were harmonized with Terry’s, deep grunts as Terry wailed.
He started on his dick, trying to keep up the same speed of Santos’s thrusts, and barely making it. It felt so good, and it took away so much from him. Terry knew that without a doubt he wouldn’t need another one-nighter for months.
When Santos was finished, he kissed him deep, running his palm over Terry’s cum splattered stomach and chest, taking a taste of it before he whispered, “When can I see you again?”
Uncomfortable with the question, he asked his own. “I thought you were here on business.”
“I am. I come back often, though.”
How could he say this? How could he deny how good the man made him feel, and not break his own heart? “I’ll give you my number,” he said, hoping Santos was the kind to never call even when they said they would.
“Good. The next time I’m in town, I’ll be calling.”
Damn.