This work, as well as all other rights under the law, is owned by the author, and may not be reprinted without the author’s express written permission. This work was printed in Whatever Gets You Through The Night #2 in May 1998 by Sockii Press.
This work is the first of a trilogy, and should be so enjoyed.
Angel’s Seduction
Part One: “Out of the Mouths of Babes”
“Man, this is gonna be so good!” shouted Tony Piccolo, beginning to throw clothes in a tattered duffle bag. He picked up an equally dog-eared magazine, inspected the centerfold critically, mentally stripping off the remainder of the model’s rather strategically placed clothing, and tossed it atop the pile of apparel with a sigh.
Lucas grinned at his friend. “It’s just shore leave, Tony. We’ve had them before.”
Tony snorted, scoffing. “Yeah, but how often does Captain Bridger get us leave in New Cape Quest? Could it get any better?” The challenge was evident.
Lucas wasn’t convinced. “It could have been for a week instead of a weekend, for starters.”
Tony threw his hands to the ceiling, exasperated. “Beggars can’t be choosers, kid. It’s still leave, in the city, and I, speaking for myself --”
“As usual.”
“-- Intend to make lemonade outta the tiny little bomb Cap’n Bridger dropped.” Tony dropped a shirt into his bag, fastened the taut snaps, hefted the bulging sack over his shoulder, and left, whistling. “Later, kid. See ya in the funny papers.”
Still bemused at his roommate’s mixed metaphors, Lucas chuckled. Tony had a point, he thought, how often did shore leave in the capital city come around, even if it was only for a lousy weekend. Shrugging off his disappointment, Lucas began to pack his own bag.
“Aren’t you going on leave?”
Tim sighed, and mentally prepared his oh-so-carefully-constructed list of reasons to stay on board. “First, I don’t have anywhere to stay, and --”
“A-ha!” Lucas’ eyes twinkled. Tim didn’t like the look of that twinkle. Not at all.
“Problem solved,” declared Lucas, with a smirk. “You can stay at my place.”
Not good, decided Tim. “I don’t want to be a bother . . . .” he began, having no idea how to finish the sentence.
“Now why should you be a bother? Get packing!”
With that grinning command, Lucas disappeared from the doorway to wait outside. Tim sighed again, this time in resignation. So much for Manon Lescaut, he fretted, and rose from his chair to prepare a bag.
Nearly an hour later, Tim found himself wandering around a small studio apartment. It was sparsely furnished, but serenely colored in blues, greens, and earthy tones, providing an inalienable sense of hominess and comfort.
And it was not what he’d expected.
Oh, sure, stacks of computer equipment and piles of printouts dotted the floor and covered one of the armchairs completely, but the remainder seemed so . . . normal.
“Bad news, Tim.” The voice drifted from one corner of the flat, where Lucas was fighting a losing battle with the circuitry. “Thermostat’s fritzed.” He ran one hand through his dusty hair, exasperated. “Beyond dead.”
Tim grinned, remembering the damage a single lightning bolt had done. “Electronic toast,” he questioned.
“You got it.” Lucas strode into the kitchen to make some synthetic coffee. His voice floated back to where Tim was still trying to mesh the owner of the apartment with the brash teenager he’d watched grow up. “We can still stay here, but it’ll be cold.” A rattle of cans. “Not that it matters that much anyhow, there’s only the one bed.”
Tim was reading the titles on the crazily stuffed bookcase when Lucas entered, carrying a brightly colored tray loaded with two mismatched mugs. “Here. This’ll warm you up before bed.”
Tim took one of the mugs, noting that it was already fixed, and glanced over at his friend. Lucas was curled around in his armchair, cradling his coffee mug, and reading a physics textbook.
It figured, Tim thought.
They tossed the cushions and a multi-colored afghan to one side, and pulled out the sofabed. Draping several blankets on the covers, Lucas undressed quickly and climbed in. He grinned, noticing Tim’s uneasiness. “Oh, come on. You stay on your side, and I’ll stay on mine. What are you afraid of?”
Tim swallowed, wishing he’d found a retort to Lucas’ insistence that they’d be warmer without clothes on, and climbed into the bed. It suddenly seemed a lot smaller than it had been earlier in the day, but it couldn’t be helped. Now if he could just get warm, he could cope. He shivered, feeling the chill shake up and down his body.
“Cold?” asked Lucas from the far side of the bed.
“Yes,” came the muffled reply.
An equally muffled sigh answered him. “Scoot closer together. Body heat will work if nothing else will.”
Tim sighed, and shifted over until he felt Lucas’ smooth body next to him. I can’t believe I’m doing this, I can’t believe I’m in this situation; the repeated assertions made no sense, just ran in circles inside his head and went nowhere. He shivered again, damning the cold, and felt Lucas sigh next to him.
Lucas shifted even closer, so close that Tim could smell the teen’s sweet herbal shampoo that made him think faintly of strawberries and daffodils. Tim shifted, trying to find some warmth, and one hand accidently brushed Lucas’ sex. Shocked and ashamed, he felt the organ jump in response, and, even worse, felt his balls throb and cock twitch at the jolt.
“Sorry.”
Lucas didn’t reply, making Tim worry even more. What would Lucas think now, he moaned to his own anguished mind. He could only wonder what the response would be, for surely Lucas couldn’t ignore such a touch, whether accidental or not. The bed shifted sideways, and he realized that Lucas was sitting up, staring at him, the faintest ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. “What were you doing?”
Tim’s mouth went dry. “I . . . I . . . .”
Lucas merely looked at him, a somewhat irritating and highly smug but mildly charming smile on his face. “Tell me.” He didn’t move, not even a twitch. A statue would be more animated, thought Tim, still trying to find something to say.
“I was just trying to get comfortable,” Tim managed to explain. “Really. It was an accident. Honest.”
Lucas’ eyebrow twitched, but other than that, he did not move a muscle. “What if I wanted you to touch me?” The pause lasted for years. “What if I wanted to touch you?”
Tim didn’t know how to answer. His tongue had vanished from his mouth entirely, it seemed, and his skull felt as if someone had scooped out his brains and replaced them with cherry jello. After locating and activating the synapses responsible for speech, he softly answered. “I don’t know.”
“What do you want me to do?”
Damn him, he still wasn’t moving.
“I don’t know.”
“What do you want me to say?”
Tim had never been more frustrated in his life. Why couldn’t Lucas ask questions he knew answers to? Why did Lucas have to be there? And, most of all, why, oh why, was his body acting this way? The questions and answers tangled together and spun in mindless circles around Tim’s confused brain.
Lucas looked at him closely. “What are you feeling right now, right at this moment?”
Tim shuddered. “My body thinks it feels . . . desire . . . for you.” Adding quickly, he finished the thought. “But it can’t --”
“Why not?”
Tim openly stared at the blond teen in shock. Was Lucas attracted . . . . ? How long had he . . . . ? He forced himself to examine the thought in its unbelievable entirety. How could innocent nineteen-year-old Lucas, with his sweet face, vivid eyes, and posterboy looks, possibly be attracted to him, a thin, bespectacled, multilingual comtech? Even if . . . .
Laughing at Tim’s expression, Lucas kicked at the blankets. “Don’t look so horrified. My generation experiments more.”
“But me . . . . Lucas, you’ve got to be joking.”
Stilling completely, Lucas took Tim’s chin in one tender hand and raised the man’s warm brown eyes to his own. For a second, Tim thought he was going to drown in those sea-blue depths.
“Joking, no,” he said softly. “Crazy, maybe.” Those smoky eyes swallowed him again. “Crazy for you. I --”
He was going to say it, Tim realized.
“-- Love you.”
He did say it.
Damn him.
“I love all of you, but I want to love you,” the soft earnest voice continued. “Want you, need you, have you . . . .” Lucas trailed off, memories assaulting him, trying to focus when it was that the love became a palpable thing. His dizzy happiness when Tim defended Darwin when he himself couldn’t find the strength, when he couldn’t hear the cries. The joy in Tim’s eyes when he and the others squished wearily out of the damned hurricane. His anguished relief at having rigged the lottery to save Tim’s life, then the equally ectastic joy at its being unnecessary.
“But what about God?”
Lucas took a deep breath, for here was the difficult bit. “What about him? Tim, how can God forbid love?” He tried to keep the shakes out of his voice. “You believe him to be a loving, forgiving God, don’t you?”
“I believe He allows love, yes.” Tim considered the second question briefly. “I like to think of Him as loving and forgiving all of us our sins and mistakes and trespasses.”
“No matter how bad they are?”
“Yes.”
Lucas wanted to cry out; the tension in the room was almost visible. “Then why shouldn’t He,” emphasizing the pronoun, “forgive us our love and our sins and our trespasses?”
Tim didn’t have an answer, and for once, the crying, whirling mob of thoughts in his head were quiet. He looked at Lucas, studying his features, his gaze drifting to the covers, where Lucas’ small hand lay on the brightly colored blanket. He raised his eyes, searching his friend’s face. The need and desire and hunger and gentleness radiating out of the bright blue eyes was his answer. Slowly, Tim’s hand, almost of its own accord, took Lucas’ hand in his own.
Lucas breathed deeply. Finally, he thought.
Leaning in closely, as close as possible, he brushed his lips to Tim’s, but Tim didn’t move. Struggling to control his own hungry need, Lucas kissed Tim on the mouth with all his might, pouring all the passion he could muster into the kiss, mentally willing the other to relax.
Slowly, Tim began to relax into the kiss, accepting the contact, and brought a hand up to stroke Lucas’ face. So soft, he thought. Lucas’ own hands were busily tracing patterns on his partner’s chest.
Lucas broke the kiss, smiling softly, and gently pulled his friend closer. Kissing him again, he savored the taste of the waiting mouth, delighted when an eager tongue warred with his own. It was a battle he’d love to lose, Lucas considered.
They lay together, exploring each other’s bodies, kissing tenderly, stroking soft smooth skin. Nimble fingers, seeking tongues, soft endearments, still softer groans of pleasure.
Closing his eyes, Lucas felt his own arousal, and drifted his tongue southward, down his beauty’s face, caressing Tim’s throat with lips and tongue. Tim groaned softly, rubbing both hands sensously over the boy’s back and sides. Still drifting, the blond ran his wet tongue over the older man’s nipples, hearing Tim gasp, and feeling them harden at his touch. Turning his attention still further south, Lucas explored the sworls of his lover’s navel.
Running fingertips along Tim’s thighs, Lucas began nibbling the tender skin of the brunet’s inner thighs, ignoring, for the time being, the taunt sex so close and already weeping.
Tim moaned, cried something incoherent, as the torturing tongue swept in tiny circles on his skin. He ran his hands along Lucas’ back, then up into the thick golden locks. “Oh, please . . . .” Then he felt the tongue curl around his shaft, and all coherent thought fled.
Lightly kissing the length of swollen flesh, Lucas heard Tim moan, his hand cupping the older man’s balls. He squeezed gently, his tongue lingering around the glans, drawing another hoarse moan.
Taking Tim into his mouth again, he felt the cock slide against the back of his throat, coaxing him.
Unable to stand it, Tim thrust his hips gently, not wanting to hurt Lucas, but knowing his control was going fast. Feeling his climax approaching, he touched Lucas’ cheek to warn him. Sobbing Lucas’ name, Tim’s cock pulsed inside the younger man’s mouth as his climax ripped through his body.
Lucas eagerly swallowed everything Tim gave him, taking care to suckle him dry as the last of his climax shook him, adoring every last whimper and moan and shiver of need and pleasure.
He crawled back up and pulled Tim close, smiling at him. The Lieutenant’s face was blissful, his pupils dilated with arousal. Pulling Lucas into a kiss, Tim slid his hand around the younger man’s sorely ignored erection.
“You have a little problem here,” whispered Tim softly as the blond’s gasp of pleasure forced him to break the kiss.
Moaning softly, gripping Tim close, Lucas managed to choke out his answer. “Not . . . so little . . . anymore.”
Lucas’ eyes closed as Tim stroked his flesh. Feeling a seeking mouth, he thrust his tongue inside. Matching the rhythm that shook his senses, the couple moved in unison. Lucas wrapped both arms around Tim, crying out as his lover, his torturer, teasingly rubbed the length of his cock only to squeeze the tip.
Feeling his own climax close, Lucas gasped muffled sounds into the skin at Tim’s shoulder. Screaming hoarsely, Lucas came, spilling cream into his lover’s hand, over both their abdomens, and the bedsheets. The volume of the howls made Tim hope that the neighbors were sound sleepers. Moans signaled the echoing shock-waves of orgasm, and Lucas slowly opened his eyes to gaze dreamily at Tim’s smiling face.
“Mmmmmmmm,” whispered the teen gently, his eyes still glazed with love and happiness. Tim said nothing, merely sighed contentedly, and snuggled closer.
Feeling the stickiness on and around him, Lucas roused himself enough to snag the uppermost blanket, and wipe himself and the brunet down gently before throwing the soaked material on the floor. He smiled, pleased to see his lover nearly asleep. Curling around him, Lucas drifted away into happy sleep.
Tim shifted slightly, awakened somewhat by Lucas’ movements. His consciousness lasted just long enough to wonder at the night’s events and to think one last coherent thought before Prince Morpheus claimed him.
Out of the mouths of babes . . . .
Angel’s Seduction
Part Two: “Ties That Bind”
Slowly, Tim drifted awake, consciousness returning in gentle stages. It was rare that he awoke so leisurely, the golden morning sunlight shining on his face. It was rarer still that he awoke with the weight of a head pillowed on his chest.
With that sudden realization, memory of last night’s events flooded back, a tangle of conflicting emotions crashed down to break on the shore of Morning After Beach.
Oh God, what did I do, moaned Tim inwardly, as he fought the urge to run out of the room. What did we do, he quickly amended, and what in the name of the Blessed Virgin do I do now?
Tim had no idea. Nor was he totally certain how he’d gotten there anyway. Lucas told me he loved me, mused Tim. Am I so hard up that that’s all it takes? No, decided Tim, there must be more to it then that. It had been a long time, to be sure, but . . . this . . . was so unexpected.
Tim chuckled softly at the absurdity of it all. Unexpected? About as unexpected as having a submarine fall out of the clear blue sky and land on your head. While vacationing in Iowa. But the question wouldn’t go away, nagging at him: why did I give in?
“I have absolutely no idea,” sighed Tim softly, answering his own question. “And somehow ‘it seemed like a good idea at the time’ isn’t going to cut it.” Did I give in at all, wondered Tim. Is it possible that, somewhere, those feelings had been there, the love had been there all along? Everything he’d ever been taught told him that he should be angry and resentful of another man’s sexual touch upon his body, that he should feel ashamed and dirty.
But it hadn’t felt that way.
Tim looked down at the sleeping teenager next to him. Lucas’ golden hair was tangled, spreading over onto Tim’s chest. I remember what his hair smells like, thought Tim, I remember what it tastes like.
Am I in love with him? -- the thought floated unbidden into Tim’s mind. I still don't know, he considered. It didn’t seem that likely, but ‘likely’ wasn’t exactly a buzzword on this tour either. Some of those things made this seem way more likely.
But I still don’t know what I feel, Tim groaned internally, looking down at Lucas again. He looks all of twelve when he’s sleeping, he chuckled, noticing that a silken fringe of golden hair had fallen over his eyes. He wondered absently whether or not it made him a cradle snatcher as he gently brushed the locks off Lucas’ face.
Lucas drifted blissfully awake, luxuriously aware of last night’s events, and wondering whether Tim would bolt for the door before or after both of them were awake. Sighing at the obstacles in the way of Cupid’s arrow, the teen raised his head to look at Tim, his eyes delighted and worried by turns.
Tim watched Lucas’ eyes, saw them glowing with love and happiness and sheer joy, and felt something inexplicably sing in answering joy and tenderness. But he didn’t know why. The bright blue eyes gazed searchingly through him, gauging his mood.
“What’s wrong?” As if I didn’t know, thought Lucas, as if it wasn’t obvious. But it’s better to deal with the fallout sooner rather than later. Mentally crossing his fingers and rolling off Tim to lounge on his pillow, he prepared himself for what he most feared, for a total rejection, for the destruction of his greatest dream.
Tim sighed, propped himself on one elbow, and sat up. “Thinking about you. Me. Us.” He waved at the teenager, then at himself, and shrugged. “This.”
“What’s bothering you?”
“I don’t know. Everything. Nothing.”
Lucas sighed. Sometimes love was like a gentle Spring breeze. Sometimes it was like a wrecking ball. Sometimes you couldn’t tell the difference. Now was one of those times, thought Lucas. “Is it that we made love last night? And enjoyed it? And now you’re trying to decide what it makes you?”
Tim stared at the teenager, wondering briefly if he was really that transparent. “Yes.” He began to fidget nervously, and Lucas suppressed the desire to hug the distress away.
“To me, it makes you Timothy O’Neill, someone I love, someone I cherish, someone I need, and someone I very much desire.” Lucas’ eyes grew smoky again with longing. “I know I’m younger than you and probably a lot less experienced than you, but I have learned some things.” He struggled to keep the pleading tone out of his voice. “You can’t choose who you love -- it just happens. And when you find love, cherish it.”
Tim quietly absorbed this, and considered his own violently conflicting feelings. “I still don’t know how I feel or why or anything else, but this is out of my depth.” He paused and looked at Lucas, his mixed emotions evident on his face. “Let me think things out, okay?”
Lucas nodded, and hurriedly picked himself off the bed, trying not to let his fear show on his face. Sweetheart, he thought, I hope you decide for us rather than against us. Glimpsing Tim escape into the bathroom, Lucas sighed unhappily and headed for the kitchen. Setting the synthetic coffee on to heat, he reflected on the happy events of last night. I love you dearly, Tim, but I don't want you to be unhappy. Find peace, pleaded Lucas silently, gazing mournfully at the coffee-maker. For yourself, for me, for us . . . .
As he wandered the streets, deep in thought, Tim wondered what to do now. He’d been to the library, reading about . . . it. Why can’t you tell it like it is, Tim, even to yourself, he fumed. ‘It’ has a name, and it’s called ‘homosexuality’ and ‘bisexuality.’ Now I know about . . . it intellectually, I know that it means there’s nothing wrong with me -- nothing physically, nothing mentally, and nothing psychologically.
But spiritually? Tim didn’t know, and he feared what the answer might be. He looked up at the sky, and found that his ceaseless meanderings had led him to a church. Our Lady of the Prompt Succor. Just what I need, decided Tim. He entered and, after geneflecting as was proper, began to pray for guidance and a liberal priest.
A soft voice almost at his elbow startled him. “My son, are you in need of me?” Tim looked up to see a thirtyish sandy-haired priest with kind hazel eyes standing there. Where did he come from? The question flashed irrationally through Tim’s mind.
Tim blushed. “I . . . don’t know . . . yet.” He blushed again. “I’m . . . not . . . .” His voice trailed off in a frantic mixing of emotions, confusion chief among them.
The priest chuckled, and patted his shoulder comfortingly. “That’s alright, my son. Let’s talk.” He gently led Tim through a short greenery-filled hallway into his office at the rear of the church.
Lucas wondered where Tim was and what Tim was doing now. He was hoping that everything would be alright, that Tim could accept him, that he could accept them. It was a lot to hope for, he knew, but he couldn’t help it. It wasn’t as if he’d ever had a choice; the choice had been taken away from him somewhere along the journey, and, brother, what a long, strange trip it’d been.
“. . . So now you see, Father . . . .” Tim hung his head, his face burning with shame and fear and pain and worry. “I don’t know what to do, I don’t know how to feel, or even if what I feel is right.” Father Joseph Francis Ryan had barely said a word throughout Tim’s painfully slow, tortured explanation. In addition to what Tim expected, the small office was filled with books and plants. In fact, it appeared that Father Ryan’s office opened up into a small greenhouse filled with miniature roses, lilies, and canterbury bells. An English ivy hung by the door leading to the church proper, and a Flame of the Woods, its many clusters of orange-red blooms in full flower, sat in the position of honor on the priest’s desk.
Visions of remembered stories from Sunday School ages ago, visions of the auto-de-fe or excommunication or, worse, a call to the church diocese that governed his hometown’s church flashed through Tim’s mind. For a brief moment, Tim even imagined the church diocese informing the church in which he’d proudly served as an altar boy, and the church in turn informing his parents . . . . Feeling the flush stretch from the roots of his hair all the way down to his toes, he was sure, he hurriedly discontinued that painful thought.
“And you think that I can tell you what to feel, hmmm?”
Tim stared, and then blushed again. I haven’t blushed this much in one day since high school, thought Tim ruefully. “I don’t know.”
Father Ryan smiled. “Let me give you some things to think about. Aristophanes, a philosopher of ancient Greece, has a delightful allegory about love in which a long, long time ago, all humans were blob-like one-sexed creatures. In an effort to cease the creatures’ misbehaviors, Zeus cleft the creatures in two, Each half longed for its other half, and wove themselves together, trying to become entwined again, as they had been previously. Sometimes the other half was a man, sometimes it was a woman.” Here Father Ryan paused, and calmly looked an anxious Tim in the eye. “Aristophanes believed that this tragedy of separation was the source of the human desire to love, because each person is seeking his original other half which matches him.”
The young priest sat up in his chair, the light glinting off his auburn highlights, his dark hornrims, and the vestments of his holy office. Tim was silent, watching carefully. “It’s a charming story. The Christian concept of a couple santified as a ‘union’ before God is also comforting, in that there is a warranty keeping their souls together. But love,” he caught Tim’s eye again, “and I mean romantic love, is based on the ideas of individuality and freedom.” He paused. “The freedom to come together and the freedom to go.”
Tim sighed, his unhappiness evident.
The priest sighed, but his tone was that of tolerance and comfort. “If it helps any, I believe that the sin of Sodom and Gomorrah was not that of homosexuality, but that of the failure to adhere to the Middle Eastern custom of hospitality.” Tim perked up at this news somewhat, as the padre had intended. “In those times, your life could and often did depend on a total stranger offering oil for your feet or water for you to drink. Once the hospitality had been offered, it could not be revoked. The failure to accept that was their sin, and that was the reason why God, in his wisdom, destroyed them.”
“That helps a little,” Tim admitted. “I think.”
“Remember, God loves you. He loves Lucas too. And He wants you to be happy.” With that comment, he guided Tim to the door of his office. “And say a Hail Mary before you go,” finished the priest.
“Yes, Father,” said Tim obediently. He made his way to a pew near the altar, knelt, and began to pray quietly. When he had finished, he lit a candle and left the safety and comfort of the church for the confusing world outside.
Tim should be back soon, thought Lucas, as he glanced for the hundredth time that hour at the clock. That is, if he’s coming back at all, his treacherous mind whispered. Shut up, he firmly ordered that traitorous part of his mind, I don’t want to hear it. Shoving away worries that dear Tim might have fled to a hotel, the boat, or maybe even the country for that matter, Lucas began to prepare dinner.
Remembering that Tim was a vegetarian, Lucas decided on something that would be easy to fix -- since his culinary skills were pretty limited -- and would lend itself equally well either to a evening of comfortable friendship or to a evening of playful seduction. Pasta, grilled vegetables, fresh fruit, a bit of broiled fish, and spongy golden ladyfingers.
After all, Lucas mused, planning was everything.
The little bell jingled cheerfully as Tim entered the homey little shop. Flower arrangements were tastefully displayed, and a large bound book dominated the counter area. A bright-eyed brunette greeted him cheerfully, wanting to know if she could be of assistance and claiming her name was Rachel.
“I’m looking for a flower arrangement.”
Her eyes sparkled merrily. “Well, that’s why we’re here. What sort of arrangment are you looking for?”
“I’m not sure yet.”
The brunette took his arm and led him through the fragrant blooms to the leather-patched book on the counter. “This book talks about the language of flowers. Every flower has a meaning, for example, everyone knows that red roses mean romantic love.” Tim nodded. “But other flowers have meanings too. We take the flowers the client,” she grinned at him, “that’s you, chooses as having the right message and make an arrangement out of them. And, voila!, a bouquet of flowers that says more than a thousand words.”
Tim smiled. “I got it.”
“Let me know when you’ve picked them, or it, out. I’ll be in the back.” With a crack of her chewing gum, she sashayed through the red and green curtain in back of the counter.
Tim began to page through the heavy leather book, looking at photographs and reading the text, but comprehending less than half of what he saw. I still don’t know what to say to him, he thought, I don’t even know what I’m looking for. Sighing, the brunet allowed his mind to drift back to last night’s events, the look on Lucas’ face this morning, his own tangled thought-trail this morning, and his talk with the liberal priest that afternoon.
He was silent, standing there at the counter, for a long time.
Finally, he called the girl -- Rachel -- in and told her what he had chosen. She stepped back, and looked at him carefully. “So, it’s like that, then....” He noticed her eyes sparkling with delight as she vanished into the back to make up the flowers. Several minutes later, she reappeared, her dark hair flowing behind her, with a bouquet in both hands.
Tim stared at the gigantic bouquet. “Those are huge, but these are so tiny,” he grumbled, knowing he was complaining and not liking it very much.
Rachel smiled softly at him. “I know it sort of looks funny,” she said apolegetically, “but it doesn’t matter very much now anyway, does it?” Again that sad soft smile.
Tim felt a flutter in the pit of his stomach. “No,” he said simply. “It doesn’t.” Handing over the money, he hefted the massive bunch of flowers and left.
A knock at the door filled Lucas with anxiety, and he jumped to answer it. Tim stood there, cheerful but looking determined, with a huge bouquet of shining flowers in his hands. His heart jumped even as his stomach sank, wondering whether the flowers were a good sign or a bad sign. Lucas gave the brunet a hopeful look, but Tim didn’t respond. Feeling his guts freeze to liquid nitrogen, he said to himself, if this is a bad joke, I’ll have to take some appropriate action. Tim entered, and Lucas closed the door, shutting out the night.
“Thinking all done?” It was all the teen could think of to say that wouldn’t involve tears or pleading. They just stood there, looking at each other.
Tim nodded, pleased with himself. “I think so.” He’s shining, thought Lucas fiercely, he shines like he’s been freshly cleaned. He continued to watch as Tim walked over to the bookcase, but forced himself into the kitchen to find water for the flowers when Tim began to nervously pick and poke at the bookspines.
Tim cleared his throat. “First, I went to the library, and did some reading. Those psychological texts by Fuertes and Walker.”
Lucas cast his head back, his eyes blanking as he tried to figure out what the hell Tim meant. Then it clicked. “The studies on identity and sexuality?” He nearly burnt his hand on the water with surprise, before scrambling to shift the temperature bar to the opposite side.
Tim nodded, unseen. “Then I took a long walk in the park. After that . . .” He took a deep breath. “I went to confession.”
Big surprise there, thought Lucas, walking back into the room with the flowers of gold and silvery-white. “What did the priest . . . say?” His heart sank, bloody and crying, knowing the Vatican’s position on homosexual activity. Trying to hide his approaching tears, not wanting to bawl like a baby, he set the vase of flowers on an end table where the light would caress them until they glowed.
Tim gave the teen a look, and began to wander the apartment. “Lots of things. But after he said all he had to say, he asked me if I was in love with you, if I was happy.”
Turning, Lucas raised his head, looking at him, his eyes hopeful and pleading again, just barely on the brim of tears. “And are you?”
Tim didn’t move. “Read the card.”
His hands trembling, his knees shaky, Lucas searched for the message card. Finding it, he wiped his overflowing eyes, raised the card, and wiped his eyes again. He read the hand-printed black calligraphy in stunned silence.
White violets : Let’s take a chance on happiness.
Daffodils : Regard, You’re the only one, The sun is
Forsythia : Anticipation. Flowers can say more than a thousand words, because
every species and color of flower has a specific meaning.
The best way to say it is to say it with flowers.
always shining when I’m with you, Respect.
Looking up at Tim, Lucas only vaguely saw the words for the ringing in his ears and the world suddenly had a swimming quality to it. The brunet spread his arms wide, and Lucas dropped the card to the floor, running to him for a hug. He wanted to weep, hell, he was weeping, but with sheer delight, his heart singing trills around Mozart, shivers of desire and longing trailing up and down his spine, and, oh, the feel of Tim’s hands on his back. Lucas put his head against Tim’s chest, hearing the reassuring heartbeat, and was reassured to note that it was faster than it should be.
Tim smiled, warmly, and held Lucas close. “Just like the happiness from a bundle of fur greeting you at the doorstep,” grinned Tim, impishly.
“Why, you . . . .” began Lucas indignantly, starting to pull away. Tim interrupted the motion, by pulling Lucas firmly into a kiss, capturing the boy’s tongue with his own. Lucas surrendered immediately, melting against him, his breath already coming in short gasps. After wrapping his arms around the older man and squeezing as hard as he could, Lucas let his hands drop and wriggle inbetween their bodies, stroking Tim gently through his jeans.
Groaning softly, Tim fell backward onto the couch, giving Lucas the perfect opportunity. The blond more or less threw himself onto the couch and began to crawl slowly, sensuously over Tim’s body, working nimble fingers and teasing tongue as he went. Tim moaned again, pulling Lucas to him fiercely, plunging his tongue inside the teen’s mouth. Lucas’ fingers rhythmically moved over the firm muscles, feeling the hardness inside the other’s jeans. Groaning softly, the boy pushed himself forward to gently rub his own arousal against the brunet’s body.
Even as the kiss became more and more entrancing, more and more intimate, something suddenly tickled Tim’s dizzy senses, and he tried to focus in on it quickly so that he could dismiss it even quicker. An alarm. A kitchen alarm. Cursing softly in a dozen languages, some of which no longer existed, he regretfully pushed Lucas away with a firm shove, simultaneously saying “Food’s burning.”
“Don’t care” was the gasped reply, as the teen once again made a play.
“I do,” Tim insisted, fending him off, his lips swollen from where Lucas had sucked at them. “I’m hungry.”
“So’m I,” Lucas breathed, his face flushed, his eyes smoky dark, and his sultry voice giving Tim no doubt as to what he wanted. A shiver of anticipation went through the older man.
Giving in, Lucas sighed, trotting into the kitchen, willing his blood to slow its race through his veins. Taking a potholder from the rack, he pulled the tray of ladyfingers from the oven, placed them on a cooling rack, and disengaged the alarm. The pastries were burned, but not badly so, and were probably still edible. It’s not as if I ever claimed to be a chef anyway, thought Lucas ruefully.
Tim wandered into the kitchen just then, glanced at the black-edged delicacies, “tsk-tsk-tsked” over them with a merry look in his eyes, and pulled Lucas over for another kiss. The kiss was returned with such an intensity that Tim’s knees grew weak and blood pounded in his ears when he felt the boy’s hands caressing his ass through his jeans. Regretfully, reluctantly, Tim broke the kiss, running his tongue along Lucas’ jaw.
“Dinner . . . .” he gasped out, trying to make his voice as firm as possible, and knowing he had definately not done so. The golden-haired teen groaned in disappointment, but with merriment in his eyes, and turned back to trimming the edges on the cakes.
The couple ate in silence at the kitchen table, their eyes on each other and little else, watching, waiting, needing. Tim was actually quite surprised that Lucas could cook at all, and with real ingredients at that. Just another thing he didn’t know . . . yet.
When only the ladyfingers were left, Lucas produced, seemingly from nowhere, strawberry jam and apricot preserves. Pouring the sweet preserves into wide-mouthed bowls for dipping, the pair began eating the pastries fondue-style. Lucas couldn’t help giggling, watching Tim hold the spongy cake above his mouth, dripping dark burgundy jam into his mouth, before dropping the pastry in to follow it. Tim laughed when Lucas accidentally dropped a pastry completely into the apricot spread, and turned it into a fishing game, poking around with a fork trying to pick it up again.
Finally, when the ladyfingers were completely devoured, and crumbs fought over, even the burned ones, they sat on the sofa. Lucas, eyes closed, curled up against Tim, Tim with his arms firmly around the younger man, and both of them content and happy and fed.
His heart pounding in a staccato beat, Tim struggled to keep his voice calm. “Did you know you have jam on your chin?” And if he doesn’t see through that one, he thought, I’ll eat my com board.
Opening his eyes, Lucas turned slightly, looking up, presenting his best innocent-little-me look, his eyes wide. “Really?”
Tim nodded, solemnly, thinking that Lucas’d gotten it all right.
“Would you get it for me?” He sounded so innocent, so, so innocent.
Lucas scooted closer, and Tim took the boy’s face in his hands, kissing his chin and seeking his mouth. Finding it, locking onto it, begging to be let inside. Lucas groaned deep in his throat, opened his mouth to the kiss, and thrust his own tongue inside to explore possessively. The brunet moaned through the kiss, and began to do some exploring of his own. Lucas felt as if his body was drifting twenty thousand feet up, wondering if Tim would always be so forthright. It didn’t seem like him to be so, but Lucas didn’t really mind.
Lucas’ fingers dropped to stroke Tim again, and he broke the kiss, moaning, pulling the blond even closer to him. He began kissing the lieutenant’s jaw, cheek, and earlobe, and Tim moved his hands under the boy’s tee-shirt. Lucas moaned softly in response, for in this position their cocks were almost touching, separated only by fabric and his own fingers.
“Tim,” he breathed. “I’ve learned something else in my time.” The man moaned something noncommittedly in reply. “The bed is usually much more comfortable . . .” He began to nuzzle the brunet’s earlobe again in sugggestion, and removed Tim’s glasses with extreme care.
“Bed,” agreed Tim softly, breathing hard, his eyes shining brightly. Lucas nodded, knowing their brilliance matched that in his own and for the same reason.
Working together, they pulled out the sofabed, pausing for kisses and touches and strokes, barely able to keep their hands off each other. Kissing softly, they undressed -- a touch here, a pull there, an assist here -- and shortly both were in bed. Tim’s nerve faltered; he wasn’t sure what to do next, and all his shyness came to the fore.
Lucas, as if sensing this, kissed Tim soundly. Thinking he might die if he didn’t, feeling his uncertainty dissolve in a tingle of excited nerve endings, he returned the kiss, allowing their tongues to meet and entwine in joyful duels. Tim ran one hand gently over the blond’s smooth body, the soft pale skin blushing at his touch. Lucas breathed in, in near ecstasy, his fingers trailing down Tim’s body, teasing his nipples with a delicate caress.
With a gasp, Tim brought a hand up, and tangled it in Lucas’ golden hair, as their kisses got deeper and more insistent. He felt the blond’s hand slide over his belly and begin stroking his hardening cock. Breaking the kiss, moaning in ecstatic appreciation, barely coherent, Tim cried out. “Ohh . . . you’re . . . tesoro . . . oh . . . .”
Lucas cried out in surprise, as the brunet rolled over on top of him, then cried out again, feeling his lover’s swollen cock rub against his own erection. He swept his arms around Tim, pulling him closer and closer, urging him, pleading him, begging him in soft insistent moans. Gasping and short of breath, Lucas kissed him deeply, and felt Tim sucking on his tongue. Starting to lose control, Tim thrust against his lover, the friction increasing as Lucas also began to thrust from underneath. The brunet tangled his hands in those golden locks. Both men were now gasping and moaning softly, and the rythmic movements of thrusting and clutching and stroking continued, accompanied by soft cries and groans and whispered endearments.
Tim felt his balls tighten up, and he screamed, his climax tearing through him, leaving him incoherent with pleasure. Lucas howled a second later, clutching his lover tightly, as he shuddered through his own eruption, ending with whimpers and soft moans.
After what felt like years, Tim drifted into coherent thought, and found his lover nearly asleep underneath him. Smiling softly, he rolled off with delicate care and cleaned the cooling fluid with some tissues -- ones he suspected Lucas kept there for just that purpose -- and tossed them into the wastepaper basket. Kissing his golden boy’s eyelids gently, Tim whispered, “Sleep sweetly, mon beau, my querido, pequenito, sleep.” Sighing with contentment, Tim kissed him again on the cheek, curled up around Lucas, and drifted into sleep.
Angel’s Seduction
Part Three: “Someone to Watch Over Me”
Tim drifted awake, and, without fail, his memory kicked in a few moments later. He felt Lucas still curled next to him, around him, snoring gently, an arm draped possessively across Tim’s stomach. Sighing, the brunet remembered their lovemaking of the night before, remembered how he had inititated the contact, and remembered that he had enjoyed it. Had enjoyed it very much.
Tim felt no -- well, okay -- only a little bit of guilt. He held on to the priest’s advice to seek love and happiness like the proverbial lifeline. Now he knew. He was happy, deliriously happy, terrifyingly happy. He only hoped that Lucas was happy too, and had also enjoyed last night. There was something else that they did need to talk about, though.
Commitment.
I’m just not the sort of person comfortable with casual sex, he decided, it’s just not me. I hope we can work out something, and it’ll have to be something we can cope with while on the boat. Tim hoped that it wouldn’t be too difficult. It shouldn’t be, Tim decided, after all, we’re reasonable beings and in love . . . . Tim stopped himself, amazed at his thoughts of a split second ago. Had it been only yesterday he’d been so horribly upset? It felt as if years had passed instead of only about forty-eight hours.
Lucas stirred just then, waking slowly. He blinked at the golden light streaming in the window, rubbed away the sleep-sand from his eyes, and smiled heart-meltingly at Tim. “Sleep well?” His voice was soft, almost shy.
“Marvelously,” sighed the brunet. A concern popped into his head, and he needed to ask. “Do you remember when we’re due at the boat?”
Lucas remembered. “Noon.” The blond reached out, picked up the clock at an end table pretending to be a nightstand, looked at it, and put it back down. He looked directly into Tim’s eyes, and calmly made a comment that sent a rush through the less experienced man. “We have five hours.”
I’m learning to recognize that hungry, needy look, thought Tim. Before he could act, Lucas threw himself into his arms and kissed him deeply. Tim returned the kiss immediately, pulling Lucas against him and holding him tightly. The boy ran his fingers down Tim’s chest, while their tongues met and tasted each other. They shifted positions slowly, their bodies delighting in the friction, in the feel of each other.
Moaning, the brunet pulled down, breaking contact, kissing Lucas’ throat, his fingers tangled in golden hair. Lucas gasped, and then groaned, writhing in the embrace. His hoarse breathing continued as Tim continued to kiss and nibble at his throat and lower jaw, occasionally drifting upward to kiss him leisurely. Lucas felt his arousal stirring, and ran his trembling fingers down to his partner’s groin, seeking the hardness there.
Moaning in response to Lucas’ gentle strokes on his shaft, Tim began to tease the boy’s nipples with his fingertips, hardening at his touch. Lucas gasped and moaned in reply, continuing to gently stroke the brunet’s erection, so tantalizingly close to his own.
Tim began moving toward his lover’s straining shaft, kissing the pale skin as he crept. Lucas changed position slightly to continue his gentle touches on Tim’s body. He has a cute belly button, Tim decided, and kissed it also, for good measure. He found the boy’s sex, fully erect in a nest of dark gold curls. Uncertain what to do next, blood singing in his veins, a firm stroking on his own erection driving him wild, he extended a finger, shaking with ecstasy and anxiety, and delicately stroked down the length of the shaft. Lucas arched his back and moaned, his voice soft and pleading. “Please . . . .”
Using his fingers gently to rub along the soft skin, Tim tried to remember what Lucas had done only days before, and bent down to slowly run his lips along the silky flesh. Shivering, feeling Lucas’ fingers insistently stroking his own erection, the brunet used his lips and tongue to lift the rosy tip into his mouth. He felt Lucas moan and shudder, felt the boy’s hands on his back, his fingers in his dark hair. Lightly kissing, stroking, and sucking, Tim felt the blond’s cock throb in his mouth, the hot salty liquid shooting out. Lucas cried out his lover’s name, bucking in sheer exultation. Tim coughed and choked as the first spurt of come hit the back of his mouth, and released his beloved, the rest of his come spattering against Tim’s face and body.
Still shuddering with climax, Lucas moaned, pulled Tim up to him, and began kissing away the cooling liquid. Tim ran his hands through the boy’s sweat-soaked hair, and then gasped when a hot wet tongue dart erotically in his ear, sending a jolt of pure lust straight to his groin. In his climax, Lucas had ... broken contact, but now seemed determined to make up for his lapse.
Tim pulled the teen to face him, and the pure love and arousal shining in those smoky blue eyes warmed him. Kissing him gently between the eyes, he felt the younger man’s eyelashes fluttering against his chin and lips. “You did so well, you were so good,” sighed Lucas.
Tim chuckled softly. “Couldn’t help it. My teacher inspired me.” Lucas sighed and shifted position, allowing Tim to hold him in his arms.
“Tim . . . .” The voice was soft, but with an odd tone to it. He clearly had something on his mind, something that troubled him, Tim thought.
“What is it?” Tim wanted to know, even though he feared what the answer might be. Had Lucas begun having second thoughts about their relationship? “Tell me, whatever it is.” He extended a couple fingers under Lucas’ chin, and raised the boy’s bowed head, looking into those so-beautiful eyes. “Tell me, please.”
Lucas looked hopeful and worried and excited all at once, but he was clearly uncomfortable and uncertain of something. He sighed, trying to soothe his own fears and his lover’s. “I want . . .” he began hesitantly. Tim squeezed his hand, encouragingly. “To feel you . . . inside me.” The whispered desire startled Tim, who had been expecting anything other than that. Lucas began to whisper insistently, his words coming so fast they stumbled over each other, clutching at his beloved’s hands. “Please . . . I know we should go slowly, and take time to get used to each other, and not move forward so fast, but . . . .” His voice cracked, struggling to keep back a sob. Tim promptly took Lucas into his arms, comforting him as he continued to explain. “I don’t want to lose the chance, don’t want to lose you . . . this way . . . if something . . . happens . . . I’ll still be with you, still be complete.”
Tim kissed the boy’s tears away, and sighed. “Yes. I want to.” He kissed Lucas again, deeper, feeling the blood begin to race through him again at the contact. The teen wriggled out of his arms, his lips trailing kisses like fire down Tim’s body, and he responded by running his hands on Lucas’ body and in his soft golden hair. His tongue now swirled down the length of his lover’s swollen shaft, his fingers gently stroked and cupped his lover’s balls. Tim moaned as Lucas sucked gently, his fingers lightly caressing the straining flesh. Not wanting his angel to climax yet, Lucas released his lover’s erection, gathered the pre-cum weeping from the taut sex and spread it with gentle arousing strokes over the length of Tim’s shaft.
Struggling for control throughout the teen’s preparations, Tim realized that he, too, wanted this. But, then, when everything was ready, he didn’t know what to do next.
Lucas lay stretched full-length on his belly in the bed, his eyes wide, watching the older man intently. Tim also got into bed, trusting that he would soon discover and that his own arousal would lead him. Not to mention having a great teacher, he thought wryly. Tim moved extremely close to, nearly on top of, Lucas, and began kissing him on the side of his neck. Lucas turned his head, and met the brunet’s mouth with his own.
Their kisses became deeper and deeper, their tongues meeting and touching. Tim crawled on top, carefully arranging his weight, trying not to crush the smaller man into the bed. Contorting himself in a futile effort to continue the kiss, Lucas groaned in his throat, feeling the fire between them being fanned from a spark to a raging flame. Finally breaking the kiss, he fought to form words. “Please . . . .” was all he could say. Feeling Tim’s shaft laying in the cleft of his ass, feeling his own breath quicken and catch, Lucas parted his legs carefully.
After finding the damp opening, Tim positioned himself with help from the more experienced Lucas. Moving as slowly as possible, trying to avoid hurting him, Tim eased the tip of his now aching cock inside the tight cleft. The boy arched against him and moaned something encouraging, clutching at the sweaty bedsheets, the pushing inside him at first hesitant and then strongly as Tim became more confident and more aroused. As he continued to thrust and move deeper and deeper inside his golden boy, groaning at each push with the heat surrounding him, with the deliciously taut friction increasing at every motion. With every thrust, Tim felt himself probing further inside, Lucas’ body opening up underneath him. The teen pushed back and up in response to each thrust, groaning and breathing hoarsely, his soft gasps marking his lover’s slow possession. Tim moaned with another thrust, the realization suddenly washing over him that he was completely inside the younger man, completely within his gold-haired lover’s body.
Wrapping his arms around Lucas, taking care to keep himself sheathed inside the boy’s hot body, Tim rolled himself and Lucas onto their sides, so they lay spoon-fashion on the bed, the frantic movement throwing tangled and twisted bedsheets to the floor. Now certain that their combined passion wouldn’t suffocate the smaller man, Tim began to thrust in and out, gently at first, but gaining in strength as his desire increased.
Still gripping the sheets, Lucas moaned, matching the brunet thrust for thrust, using his body to draw his lover even deeper inside him, trying to ease his own straining erection. He felt Tim’s hands massage their way to his swollen cock, and shrieked in euphoric bliss when nimble fingers matched stroke for stroke, touch for touch, thrust for thrust. The blond reached one hand in back of him, finding Tim’s thigh, and began stroking it with his fingertips, urging, encouraging, pleading, while murmuring endearments and gasping his pleasure. Lucas moaned something incoherent as the double assault increased his arousal tenfold, threatening to blow off the top of his skull.
Tim rested his forehead against a smooth shoulder, golden hair tickling his face, nuzzling passionate kisses and hot breaths against the flushed skin of his lover. Realizing his time was close, his body screaming for release, Tim thrust hard, throwing his head back, burying himself deeply inside the teen. He felt his climax explode with an intensity unlike any he’d had before, his mind shattering with the force, every muscle going rigid.
Lucas shouted in joy as Tim came, the hot fluid rushing inside him, filling him with delight, thrilling him with the utter bliss of the truly loved. His voice changed mid-yell to a howling scream when he also came, thrusting frantically against Tim’s ready hands. Shudders and climactic moans shook both of them for several moments until, spent and exhausted, their sweat-soaked bodies lay together, joined, panting heavily, until the after-shock passed.
Tim recovered first, and carefully pulled his soft member from Lucas’ body. He raised himself on one elbow to kiss Lucas gently on the lips. “Te quiero, querido.” He kissed the young man again, deeper, raunchier. “Je t’aime, reve beau, ange de mon coeur.”
Lucas blushed, his heart singing with a fulfilled dream, a promise for a loved and loving future. He kissed Tim sweetly, stroking his lover’s earlobe, wanting this five hours to last until the end of time, or longer if possible. Releasing Tim, he then rolled off the bed, staggered to his feet, and gestured in the direction of the bathroom. “I’m going to shower.” Tim nodded, and Lucas grinned mischievously. “There’s room enough for two,” he suggested, a wicked gleam lighting up his sea-blue eyes.
Tim looked into those eyes, at that mouth, and a warm wry smile appeared on his face. Would that I could, he thought, would that we only had forever and a day. “Oh, sure, then we’d never get to the boat.”
Laughing, in complete agreement, the blond trotted to wash his body, knowing that there was no way the kisses or the touches would ever be removed. Lucas treasured the memory of their lovemaking -- their first taking, if he had any say in the matter -- and it would stay with him.
Finally, after both had showered and managed to dress themselves, taking time to clean up the bed, to steal lingering kisses, to enjoy gentle gropes and light touches. Lucas had been singing while in the shower, but Tim didn’t recognize what he was singing. Maybe the fact that Lucas had all the singing ability of an ostrich with laryngitus, plus that he sang off-key, had something to do with it. He’d been humming the tune in snatches since he got out of the shower, and Tim still couldn’t identify the song.
Seeing that all was as it should be, the couple stood at the door, knowing it was time to leave but not wanting to return to the boat, not wanting to leave each other. Tim knew that now was the time to ask about their commitment to each other, and had just opened his mouth when Lucas beat him to it. I should ask Wendy to test his psi rating, thought Tim with a grin, the exasperating little mind-reader!
“So,” Lucas began. “Staying with me?” Blushing and shy, he entwined the fingers of one hand with Tim’s own. He is so adorable, wondered Tim, and he loves me.
Tim had no doubt that Lucas, too, was tense over the issue, and realized that his golden angel wanted a committed relationship just as much as he did. His answer was quick and certain, needing no thought at all for he knew it as certain as he breathed. “Yes. Toujours et sans cesse.”
Lucas’ eyes shone, and he tilted his head appealingly, looking up at Tim, wordlessly begging to be kissed. Tim obliged, holding the boy close, ravishing his mouth and tongue, recieving equal measure from Lucas in every aspect. Lucas shuddered, taking Tim’s breath away. Lucas broke the kiss, realizing that if the kiss went on much longer, they’d have to shower again. He opened the door, and stepped back, indicating that Tim should precede him. “Age before beauty.”
Tim grinned, hearing the tease and flirtation in the remark. “Why, thank you, darling.”
Lucas blushed scarlet to the roots of his hair and blew him a kiss on the sly. Hearing the humming begin again as they walked down the corridor to the elevator, Tim couldn’t stand it anymore. “What is that song?”
The golden-haired teen laughed merrily, and began to sing softly, so only Tim could hear. “Although he may not be the man some girls think of as handsome, to my heart he carries the key. Won’t you tell him, please, to put on some speed. Follow my lead, oh, how I need, someone to watch over me.”
Tim smiled, surreptously took Lucas’ small hand in his own, and squeezed in complete agreement.
Glossary
“tesoro” -- (Sp) treasure
“querido” -- (Sp) beloved
“mon beau” -- (Fr) my beauty
“pequenito” -- (Sp) dear little one
“te quiero” -- (Sp) I want you, also slang for I love you
“je t’aime” -- (Fr) I love you
“reve beau” -- (Fr) lovely dream, beautiful dream
“ange de mon coeur” -- (Fr) angel of my heart
“toujours et sans cesse” -- (Fr) always and without end, always and forever
Please, feed the Muses....
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