by Cassie Ingaben
illustration by Lorraine
By Cassie Ingaben
The blond was gorgeous in a showy, sexy way: long curls fanning over red-sequinned shoulders, sheer clinging dress glittering red-gold in the dim candlelight, red sandals, gold shiny bracelets on delicately boned wrists. Wide shoulders, slim hips, no padding, which was the way Bodie liked it -- if he had wanted a real girl he would have gone somewhere else, easier and cheaper. The privacy this club afforded, and the tastes it catered to, made for a very hefty bill -- one Bodie couldn't really afford more than the occasional once, when the urge became unbearable, and the usual surrogates wouldn't do.
Under the silent pressure of Bodie's gaze, the blond turned, crossing stares: apparently liking what he saw, since he started to move towards the bar, daintily perching on the stool next to Bodie's.
"Hello. Can I buy you a drink?"
The blond nodded, curly mane bobbing freely. The barman appeared and took the orders -- champagne and a malt scotch -- served them quickly then left his customers to their own devices. Bodie took a breath, reviewing his lines as he turned his tumbler over in his hand. He normally quite enjoyed the flirting, but today he was too highly strung to really appreciate it, what with the day he had had -- Doyle narrowly missing being killed -- also, he had the nagging feeling that the blond was way out of his league, the cultivated vowels and diction a dead giveaway of very high station indeed. Bodie sighed -- some slumming aristocrat. Great. Will want to discuss the finer points of etiquette, or maybe Ascot.
"… I am Dorian. You?" said the blond.
Relief coursed through Bodie, the other man's tone a clear, direct opening. He eyed the sequin-covered bulge at Dorian's crotch, openly appreciative, smiled: "Andrew."
"You have lovely eyes. And your hair. I love black hair -- it's a pity you keep it so short, though …"
Bodie smiled, non-committal. What was he supposed to answer to that? He didn't want to be drawn into a conversation about hairstyles, certainly. And he couldn't be sure Dorian wasn't joking, a dreamy, gently mocking smile lighting up his features.
"… but I will have to bear with it, of course -- unless you give me a rain check for when your hair is longer, say down to here?" Quickly, Dorian extended a hand, making a brushing gesture near Bodie's left shoulder. Bodie twitched, quelling the instinct to block and parry Dorian's move. Bodie breathed deeply as Dorian's gesture became a feather-light caress to his neck, Dorian's fingers trailing just behind his left ear.
Dorian smiled again, and gestured slightly with his head to indicate upstairs. Habitual slummer, thought Bodie; knows about the bedrooms upstairs. Bodie smiled and slid off his bar stool, a hand extended to help Dorian off his.
The room was dimly lit, lampshades and an electric fire giving an illusion of cosiness and warmth. Dorian smiled, and put his arms around Bodie, leaning forward for a kiss. Quickly, Bodie averted his face, and put his hands on the slim hips instead, drawing their crotches close. Dorian sighed, then gave a sort of a giggling laugh, said something that could have been "so what's new": all the while his hands, impossibly nimble, worked on Bodie's clothes. The attempt at kissing was not repeated, and soon Bodie was naked. Dorian pushed him down on the bed, and laughed again, raising his arms, hands full of blond curls. "I think I will need some help to get out of this," he breathed. He turned his back, one hand descending to point at the zipper. Bodie sat up and complied, his fingers brushing against Dorian's -- he had beautiful hands, slim and sinewy -- Bodie's mind resolutely concentrated on the task at hand -- the dress was awfully tight, almost painted on -- Bodie closed his eyes, listening to the whispered rasping of the fastener, feeling the roughness of the sequins over the smoothness of silk fabric -- he breathed in, forcing thought out of his mind. It was not the time.
Dorian turned again, and pushed Bodie back to lie flat on his back. Still facing the bed, Dorian stepped a few paces away, coming to stand near the golden gleam of a lamp, halo of blond hair glowing as if on fire: a practiced teasing smile appeared as the dress slid down, and Bodie's eyes couldn't help but widen at the sight of the black lace guepière, nipples just peeking out from the upper rim, suspenders tracing the jut of hipbone and sinewy thigh, black fabric framing pink-white skin and a silk-encased, aroused cock.
"Like what you see, soldier?" That airy laughter was back again, and Bodie nodded his assent. Dorian stepped out of the pool of red sequinned silk at his feet and walked slowly, teasingly, towards the bed. Bodie watched the performance, then extended a hand to brush against Dorian's erection. Dorian made a sighing sound, no more than a gust of air leaving his lips, and closed his eyes for a moment or two. The moment was oddly suspended, slow as Dorian's head tossed back, hair rustling softly in counterpoint to their labouring breaths. Then Dorian's porcelain blue eyes opened again, and he smiled broadly, sliding down on the bed, grabbing Bodie and crushing them together.
Bodie let himself be covered by the slim, strong body, eyes closing -- he so loved it when the deceptive slightness became male strength -- but he was not going to think about that, so he grabbed a handful of hair -- curls all over the place, no don't think of that -- and pushed the head down in a wordless request. Dorian mumbled something, and mouthed a trail of licks and light bites down Bodie's chest, fingernails raking tantalisingly on his ribs. Bodie thought he now must have lipstick smudged all over him, and moaned aloud, cock twitching and aching. Dorian whispered again, his breath cooling the wetness left by his tongue, making Bodie shiver.
Bodie moaned again when Dorian's wide mouth took his cock in, sucking strongly, hands settling on Bodie's hips, controlling the thrusting motion just so, making it match his bobbing movements, taking in the whole length with ease. Bodie's hands clenched on the hair -- so soft, the curls springy in his palms -- his eyes flew open to look down: blond, it was blond, he told himself, and very long, and it smelled of roses …
But oh, the man was good -- and Bodie was getting too close -- he scrambled and pulled Dorian up forcefully and wordlessly. There was no lipstick left on the wide lips, but they were still red, glistening wet and swollen in the semi-darkness. They looked at each other for a moment, and suddenly there was an almost hostile tension in the air.
Dorian drawled: "You like this, eh? But you won't say it. Won't say anything -- big butch man, sucked by a transvestite queer -- very flattering for you, no doubt".
Bodie's eyes narrowed, and he pounced, wrestling the other man down, pinning him roughly under himself, manhandling him into position, lifting and parting the long, silk-encased legs, growling as he summarily got rid of Dorian's silk pants, crushing him under his own weight, thrusting blindly, mindless of the clawing and mewling that could not dislodge him, of the hot words egging him on:
"Come on, soldier, come on, all big and nasty, can't you put it in, can't you fuck me, come on, I bet you could kill me if you wanted to, I bet you might …"
Bodie fumbled blindly, spitting on his hand to wet his cock, other hands -- slim, strong -- helping him, guiding him, and he was pushing and thrusting, then was suddenly and almost effortlessly in, and now Dorian was screaming, panting and cursing, and Bodie's ears were roaring, their bodies slamming together noisily, faster and harder, and he cursed and panted too and then his eyes squeezed shut and his body took over in convulsing orgasm.
Bodie woke up abruptly, realizing he had dozed off, and looked up. Dorian was lounging next to him, whimsically dangling a scrap of torn silk over his face: "You almost passed out on me. And my best knickers are ruined now, not to mention my stockings. I should pout and sulk, but I think I won't, since you have been very, very good." The drawl was affected, but the fucked-out softness around Dorian's eyes wasn't.
Suddenly, with yet another one of those abrupt switches in mood that had passed between them, Bodie wanted the man to disappear. It often took him like that, what before had been alluring and irresistible, no, necessary, was now repulsive, cheap and tawdry. The man had mascara smudges round his eyes, and yellow hair, and the corset made Bodie want to cringe now. How could he have … He closed his eyes, sucking air in noisily.
Dorian's expression wavered, eyes shrewd, then he smiled dazzlingly and vapidly -- "Darling, I don't know about you but I am dying of thirst -- I think I need to repair to the bar." In moments, he disappeared in the bathroom, to reappear shortly after, dress once again in place, no smudges, hair still a bit wild. He went to the bed, sat down next to Bodie, staring down at a face carefully kept still and expressionless. Dorian's dazzling smile switched itself off abruptly, and once again Bodie was treated to a long, perceptive stare.
The moment stretched, and just as Bodie was giving in to the impulse to flinch, the other man spoke: "You should let your hair grow. Relax. He might tell you he likes the new version better, and who knows?" Dorian shrugged, a bitter twist to his mouth. "Or maybe not. Men like you are just trouble. You have to make it impossible to yourself."
He leaned down suddenly, and brushed his lips to Bodie's -- an instant and they were gone. Then he got up and was gone, too.
Bodie, alone in the tatty room that smelled of sex, stared at the ceiling for a long time, fighting thoughts and wishes and impossibilities until blessed blankness came again.
18 June 2000