A True Colors Anniversary by Clare London
“What’s going on?” Miles paused in the doorway of the lounge, his newspaper under his arm. He was due a haircut, but hadn’t had time to arrange an appointment. It meant that a stray lock of his thick dark hair fell forward over his forehead and kept getting stuck in the arm of his reading glasses. Every time he brushed it back, it knocked the glasses askew on his long, straight nose.
It had been a weary, hot, and distressing week at work, finished off with a weary, hot and distressing journey home. He’d refused the offer of a cab at the end of the day: after all, he was only a dozen or so stations away from his city flat. But a wildcat strike by the train drivers meant only one in three trains was running. He’d been jostled and squashed on the platform by frustrated commuters, turned borderline psychotic by impatience and ill-equipped air conditioning. Then some hooded youth who obviously had a death wish tenacious beyond belief, had knocked into Miles - twice - and made him drop his much-needed frappuccino onto the tracks below. Before he’d taken even one sip.
The youth had apologised profusely, but Miles was in no mood for any further problems, at work or home. He looked into the lounge and frowned. The glasses slid a little further down his nose.
Zeke uncurled himself from a comfortable position on the sofa and peered over the back of it. “So I’m guessing you don’t need any further stress,” came his long, slow drawl. “I’m a sensitive, new age male. I can see that. Something about the way your fingers are welded to the handle of your briefcase. Something about the homicidal gleam in your eye.”
Miles peeled the remains of the newspaper from where the afternoon’s heat had stuck it to his palm and dropped it on to the side table. There was newsprint all over his hand but he was past caring. He carefully unwrapped the fingers of his other hand from their pseudo-rigor mortis around his case. Then he moistened his dry, pursed lips, preparing his carefully balanced response.
“Love it when you do that,” Zeke murmured. “Purse your lips like that. For me.” His eyes looked wide and innocent but his mouth smiled wickedly, licking around his words as if they were nuggets of something luscious and inevitably chocolate-flavoured. “But I guess you know that.”
Miles tried to ignore the way that Zeke’s mouth moved. Sometimes it promised delights that couldn’t be bought or begged anywhere this side of Paradise. Sometimes it meant - most definitely - further stress, though of a different kind. Miles sighed. And sometimes he never really knew what it would bring. That thought brought fearful delight. It stimulated him beyond belief. And he had no doubt that Zeke knew that.
He took a couple of steps into the lounge. “What’s going on?” he repeated. Quite calmly, and – he reckoned – in his most measured tone.
“Nothing much,” Zeke replied, in such a way that the opposite was patently true. “Just thought you needed to chill out. Hey, just listen to the strain in your voice. This deal has been hell for you. Every day, into the city centre, fighting with lawyers and accountants, and every journey a struggle through a sweaty, seething mass of humanity.”
“I never actually phrased it like that,” Miles said, dryly. “And I’ve enjoyed being involved in a new merger.”
“But maybe not as much as before.”
Miles grimaced. Did Zeke really see that in him? “True. I’ve spent a couple of months working mainly from home, and I suppose I’ve been spoiled. The change back just takes getting used to.”
“The clamour, the travel, the backbiting, the politics…”
Miles raised an eyebrow. “And that’s just at the coffee shop.”
Zeke’s smile grew wider, the skin crinkling at the outer edges of his eyes. “It’ll be finished in another month or so, and you can work from here again. I like us both working from home.”
“Your idea of us working from home has a rather different agenda than my need to earn money,” Miles said, but he could feel his smile venturing out to join Zeke’s. “Your career aspirations for us tend to involve over eighty per cent of my time – our time - in bed. I find it difficult to create due diligence checklists from that – those – angles.”
Zeke was laughing now. He stood up gracefully from the sofa and went to the side table, where he poured out and offered to Miles a glass of something pale, and full of what looked like unashamedly luxurious bubbles. The sides of the glass shimmered with chill condensation. Miles gazed back at his lover, seeing so clearly the similarity between man and Moet.
Zeke shrugged with a gentle, sensual grace. A trickle of liquid ran down the side of the glass and over the edge of his thumb. After Miles took the glass from Zeke’s hand, Zeke lifted that thumb up to his mouth and pressed it slowly between his lips, absorbing the drop of cool water.
Miles watched every movement; his hand felt numb around the stem of the glass. His groin ached with a heat that had nothing to do with the lack of air conditioning in public transport. “Have I forgotten a birthday or something?”
“No need to think you’re at fault. It’s just a day. Just special because it’s us.”
Miles wasn’t fooled. Spending time with Zeke kept him on his toes in more ways than one; kept him continuously alert to mood and nuance; kept him sharp and suspicious in the most delicious of ways. Living with Zeke had only honed those skills over the course of…
“It’s a year,” he said, rather too sharply, but then his back was still hurting from a buggy that some woman had chosen to park against his kidneys for all of three stops. “A year that we’ve lived together. At the gallery, at my house. Here in town.”
Zeke’s eyes widened a little further. “Is it really?”
Miles started to laugh. His gaze ranged over the room- the drawn curtains; the subdued lighting; the extra cushions on the couch. The warm, meaty aroma of something cooking in the kitchen. The ice bucket perched carelessly on the low table; the soft chink of the cubes inside it shifting as the warmth of the room began to melt them.
“You wanted to celebrate it. Should I have asked to leave work early?”
Zeke took a step forward, right up against him, sliding his hand around Miles’s waist, and pressing his mouth to Miles’s neck. “Maybe.”
Miles arched back, baring the skin of his throat, feeling moist from the sweat of his journey, warm with the throbbing pulse of his excitement. “Much earlier?”
“Very…” Zeke hissed, “very, very much earlier.” He nibbled at the skin under Miles’s ear, his hands slipping down to cup the cheeks of his lover’s arse through his heat-creased trousers.
Miles leaned forward into the harbour of Zeke’s body, nestling his head on the other man’s shoulder, running his own hand down the sinewy planes of Zeke’s back. The skin was very warm there and his fingers followed Zeke’s spine, a ridge of sharp bones and tight flesh. The small dip at the bottom smoothed down into the curve of his arse. The skin there was also warm; also delicious to touch; also goose bumping under the path of Miles’s fingertips…
Zeke sucked in a breath and moaned.
Miles slid his hands back up to Zeke’s shoulders and pushed him gently to arms’ length. “I like this welcome look,” he said. He was slightly breathless.
Zeke smiled, his eyes now heavy-lidded and decidedly less focussed. “The glass of champagne look?”
Miles tutted. He ran a finger slowly - tortuously slowly - down the trail of hair between Zeke’s nipples, watching them spring back gently against their natural line.
“Ohhh,” Zeke sighed. “You mean the nude look?”
Miles let his eyes run hungrily up and down the naked man in his lounge. “Yes. The nude look.”
“No problems with accessorising. Goes with everything.” Zeke panted, nudging himself back against Miles. “Let me demonstrate.”
“No,” Miles said, startling Zeke. “Let me.” He removed his glasses, folding them carefully and putting them aside. He took a full mouthful of his champagne and put the glass back on the table. He didn’t swallow the drink. Instead, he sank down to his knees in front of the other man, his hands supporting himself as he went, running firmly down the taut skin of Zeke’s waist, Zeke’s hips, Zeke’s thighs…
“Fuck,” Zeke sighed, as if he breathed a particularly precious poem.
Miles smiled with closed lips and then slid his mouth carefully over Zeke’s rearing cock. The champagne was still cool, still fizzing. Miles felt the hot, thick flesh of Zeke’s arousal thrust through the bubbles towards the back of Miles’ throat. Miles steadied himself with a hand on Zeke’s shaved groin, and felt Zeke’s shudder run all the way down to his toes.
“Love it when you do that,” Zeke moaned. “Like that. For me. Did I say that before?”
Miles mumbled something that was part agreement, part pleasure. He’d spent too long in conference with work colleagues this week to worry about it at home as well. He moved his head slowly, letting Zeke’s hand in his hair just follow the movement, not directing. Again and again, back and forth, in against Zeke’s groin then back up to the tip, the champagne warming and the bubbles melting in with Miles’s saliva, lubricating his mouth, bathing the thickening cock as he sucked.
“Gonna…” Zeke gasped loudly and tensed up.
“Do it.” Miles opened his mouth and took a quick gulp of air before going back down.
“It’s your anniversary gift.” Zeke was very flushed. One of his hands clutched the back of the couch and the other gripped cruelly into Miles’s scalp. It seemed to be the only way he could stay upright at the moment of climax. “Don’t mind… no cute gift wrapping?”
Miles chuckled, scraping his teeth lightly over the crown of Zeke’s cock. “This is cute enough for me.” You always are, he nearly said, but then his mouth was filled with a spurt of thick, sticky come, a hot new burst in amongst the warmed alcohol and his own juices. He gagged but welcomed it, sucking harder than he’d meant to, but desperate to take all he could. His hands tightened on Zeke’s thighs, his fingers making pink penny-shapes in the pale flesh.
Zeke cried out as he came, babbling some nonsense words in the back of his throat that included both cursing and pleading. His back arched as his cock spat out its satisfaction, and he leant back against the sofa for support. When Miles got to his feet, slowly licking his lips, Zeke leaned back into Miles’s arms, holding tightly until his body stopped shivering with pleasure shocks, and he seemed firmer on his feet again.
Miles stood there patiently, listening to the excited beat of his own heart. When Zeke reached fumbling fingers to his chest, he let him peel the shirt up over his arms. Miles savoured the stretch, his body tired of clothes and the pressures of a week’s work.
“Look at that,” Zeke said, throatily. “Today’s news, hot from the flesh. How tasty.” He dipped his head and licked at a line of smudged newsprint along Miles’s bared wrist. “Miles. Don’t feel bad at forgetting today. It’s not like it made the national papers.” He started to lick along Miles’ skin.
Miles shivered at the flickering tongue, teasing at the sensitive areas under his arm and across his shoulder. “Who said I forgot?”
He smiled at the bemusement in Zeke’s voice. He took a step away, breathing heavily, the movement in his broad chest stirring new trickles of sweat. He flipped open the straining button of his trousers, then reached for Zeke’s hand and slid it down inside his boxers.
Zeke’s eyes opened even wider. They glinted like a switchblade unfolding. He whistled, appreciatively.
“Guess where my gift wrapping is,” Miles said. He felt Zeke’s hand tangle in amongst his sweaty hairs, and his palm close possessively around Miles’s fiercely erect cock. Gotcha!
“You wore this all the way home?”
“At this tension?” As Miles nodded again, Zeke’s expression softened. He smiled, his expression both lascivious and loving. “God, you’re hard.”
“I’m well aware of that.”
Zeke chuckled, then sighed, almost reverently. He pushed Miles’s trousers to the floor and helped him kick them to the side so that he was as naked as Zeke. Miles saw the sweat on their skin shining in the dimming light. His limbs ached with anticipation and he nudged against Zeke, impatiently. And so Zeke gently peeled off the slim, tight leather band around Miles’s cock and balls, releasing him.
Miles’ cock throbbed against Zeke’s hand, damp desire at its tip, slicking the fingers that caressed it. He groaned with almost inexpressible delight. The journey home had, indeed, been a nightmare. “I reckoned the occasion should be…”
“Celebrated?” Zeke finished, nodding. “Love it when you do that. For me.” He was breathless again and his cock was bobbing encouragingly between his legs. “I really – really – like to see that on you.”
“Uh-huh. Restrained, and desperate for release. And best of all, knowing I’m the one can offer that release.” He leaned against Miles and their mouths met greedily. “Am I right?”
“You’re right. It’s been a good time. Together, I mean.”
Miles nodded and they both smiled, their lips tracing the shape of each other’s, knowing and desiring and understanding. Miles gripped Zeke again, rubbing their cocks together, his need so urgent that he felt it as a shock through his body.
“Use me,” Zeke hissed. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?” He stroked his hands down Miles’s chest, his eyes twinkling with a mix of excitement, mischief and impatience. Then he turned his back to Miles and bent forward over the seat of the sofa, resting his arms against the back cushions. He looked back over his shoulder, his legs apart and his arse presented high for Miles to see and touch. To Miles’ delight, it looked like he was already well-lubed and ready for play.
Miles smiled, his feelings deep, joyful and at peace. He moved closer, stepping between Zeke’s outstretched thighs, rubbing his swollen cock slowly with one hand and smoothing the other over Zeke’s muscled buttocks. “Happy anniversary, Zeke.”
“And? Say it, then,” Zeke whispered, grinning, sweating. “You know you want to.”
Miles laughed again, his gaze on the sensuous arch of Zeke’s body, his heart full of happiness at their shared humour, his lover’s eagerness, the plans they’d made for each other … the thoughts of the night ahead.
“I love it when you do that,” he said, no longer any strain left in his voice. “For me.”