Date: Tue, 12 Mar 2002 21:54:11 +0000
From: Java Biscuit <javabiscuit@hotmail.com>
Subject: Babying Reuben, chapter 11

This is a story involving male/male graphic sex and it's
not intended for reading by minors. If you are underage,
or this type of material is illegal where you live, please
stop now, and go read something else! This is a fantasy
meant only for the purpose of pleasurable reading.

For those who've asked, my other stories in this archive
are: Boy In A Pink Box, Vancouver Island, Willow and
Back To The Playground. They may be found in either
the Adult/youth or Young Friends sections.

Feedback to javabiscuit@hotmail.com


Babying Reuben ~ chapter eleven

by Biscuit



Reuben squeezed a small circle of cadmium red
into the little bit of space left on his palette. In
front of him the canvas was coming to life from
a quick sketch of Jean. No model to pose, the man
was downstairs with customers who'd come by
appointment. Not that he'd have sat for him even
if there weren't customers, Reuben thought. The
sketch had been done in the morning, when he'd
begged and cajoled Jean straight from the shower
up into the studio.

Jean had gotten restless very fast, never truly
holding the pose at all.

"Please," Reuben had out and out begged, "just
one more minute," trying to get basic shapes
down in spite of how his lover was shifting
uncomfortably in the old armchair; his robe
open and spread out under him.

What he had down in paint now was his memory
of how Jean looked. It was enough to work with
for Reuben who'd been absorbed for hours in
pulling life out of the bare framework. The red
blending into the flesh tones he'd mixed pleased him.
Almost right, he thought, saturating the tip of his
brush. He used it to shade his painted lover's cock
and stared at, thinking he was getting pretty close
to what he wanted. Close enough that looking at it,
the paint glistening and wet, was giving him hardon.

Pretty damn good, he thought, considering. He took
a glance out the window to gauge the time. Dark,
maybe near five, he thought. It looked like there
might be some snow in the shine of the street light.
Surely Jean's done with his clients by now, he
thought.

The studio itself was toasty warm, but the skeletal
bathroom adjoining it wasn't. Still, he was grateful
to have a sink on hand for cleaning his brushes and
getting the worst of the paint off himself. He'd made
a habit of bringing up a change of clothes so he
wouldn't accidentally carry smears of paint down
into the apartment. Jean had said, though Reuben
hadn't complained, that in the spring he'd get the
bathroom redone.

Reuben donned a pair of flannel drawstring pants
that he'd left sitting near the radiator. His cock
unfurled in the warmth. As he pulled on the clean
tee-shirt and loose, soft sweater, one of Jean's that
he'd stolen, he was hoping that Jean would be in
the apartment and that if he hadn't started cooking
yet, he could be coaxed into playing.

One last glance at the canvas before turning off
the light was enough to get him hard again.

Jean wasn't in the apartment. Reuben, impatient
to see him, decided to peek in the shop. The men
Jean was meeting with were friends, like so many
of his clients. In this case, Jean had explained, they
were people who'd become friends through the
business, not the other way around. Of course,
thought Reuben, everyone who meets him likes
him, wants to know him. Wants to fuck him, he
thought, less happily.

He eased the door to the shop open. It looked closed,
all the front lights out, but in the back there was an
area secluded behind a set of screens where Jean
often had private dealings with clients; grouping of
chairs and a sofa around a low round table. Jean was
there but there were no clients. Only David.

Since the night of the party it seemed like David
was showing up constantly. On the phone or in
person. When Reuben told Jean that he thought
David was in love with him, Jean had been very
amused and completely unconvinced. They'd been
lazing on the couch after dinner, in front of the
fire, a few days after the baby's first christmas
party. Reuben, frustrated that Jean wasn't taking
him seriously, had gotten up and started to pace.

"Why can't you see it," he'd demanded. "He
doesn't seduce your boyfriends because he wants
them. He just doesn't want them to have you."

"Reuben, come here. Just stop and come here."

He'd reluctantly gone to stand beside him. Jean
had reached out and begun stroking the back of
his leg, his hand meandering up to Reuben's ass.

"It's true that David loves me, as a friend. Okay.
That much is true." Reuben had wanted to hold
out more firmly but found himself already starting
to succumb to the way Jean was looking up at him,
the feel of his hand. "It's true that every once in
awhile he thinks he wants to fuck me. But, he is
not in love with me the way you're thinking of it.
And believe me, every guy he's taken from me,
he really wanted. But I am incredibly flattered,"
he said, his hand moving around Reuben's hip
and across his hardening cock, "that my baby
thinks I'm so irresistible to others." At that he'd
grasped him by the waist of his pants, drawing
him down, and the talk had been over.

Well, thought Reuben, I'm right, and you're wrong.
He had no doubt of it looking at David whose long
lean body was arrayed sensuously on the sofa, as
blatantly displayed as it could be without stripping
down to bare skin.

As if he felt Reuben's animosity, David glanced
up and saw him.

"Baby on board," he announced, giving him a
look that Reuben took as a challenge, not altering
his position one bit. Fuck you, thought Reuben.

"Sorry to intrude," he said, not sorry at all, meeting
David's blue eyes with his own challenge. Then he
looked at Jean, who seemed oblivious to the drama
that his friend and lover were waging with their
eyes. Oh God, Jean, he thought, you just don't get
it. But he felt a small victory in how Jean was
looking at him.

"Get in here, you," Jean said. "I just sold a pair
of rings that will pay for a jacuzzi in your
studio bathroom, if you want one." He looked
very relaxed, very pleased with himself and his
gaze was warm enough to melt away the anger
that had started up in Reuben's heart.

A week before, Reuben never would have done
what he did then. He ignored the empty chair next
to Jean and sat down in his lap, leaning into him
possessively.

"I think we should celebrate your good fortune
by going dancing," David said. "You haven't
been out to the clubs in forever. Everybody's going
to The Tracks tonight. It's Joey's first night, he got
himself a job dancing. They'll probably have him
done up with mistletoe hanging over his dick."

"You go and tell us about it later," Jean laughed.

"Come on," he coaxed. "You love to dance and
you haven't done it in ages. I'm sure you can sneak
the baby in. What do you think Reuben, don't you
want to see your old man sweat on the dance floor?"

Reuben had never been to a dance club but he'd
heard about The Tracks from Marcel. Marcel loved
to go there and had met a number of his men there.
He'd tried to get Reuben to go with him, telling him
it was easy to sneak in and dance, no one bothered
you about ID as long as you didn't buy drinks.

He was torn between the image David conjured
up of Jean dancing, and his desire to keep Jean at
home, to himself. Anything David offered made
suspicious, though, and he was glad when the
man got up from the couch, gathering his things.

"Maybe," Reuben said, gratified to feel Jean's hand
stroking his back. If I do, he thought, Jean won't
be dancing with you, David.

"Well, I can see it's getting on time for baby's
bottle. I'll call you guys later."


------------------------


Jean knew that Reuben hadn't been happy to see
David there. But he wasn't terribly concerned.
Reuben would get used to David, he was sure.

Not much could bother Jean at that moment. He'd
turned over a pair of gold rings he'd been holding
onto for a while, at a profit that would do a lot
more than fix up the bathroom next to Reuben's
studio. And the boy was relaxing against him,
smelling of soap, a little turpentine, and himself.

There was always a different energy, a charge
to Reuben when he emerged from his studio.
He was both more calm and more aggressive,
physically, as if his confidence in himself as a
painter extended for a time even after he'd laid
down his brushes.

Jean was hungry, ready to close up downstairs
and indulge in the rest of their Saturday night
together. But when Reuben tilted his head back,
looking up at him, wanting to be kissed, he gave
in to the pleasure of being exactly where he was;
sliding his hand up under the boy's tee-shirt to
feel the smooth contours of his chest. He kissed
him, holding back only a little.

"Do you want to go dancing?" Reuben asked.

Jean hadn't even considered it.

"Dancing? No."

"We've never gone." Here it comes, Jean thought.

He sensed Reuben starting to contract into
himself; he could practically see the wheels in
motion in his head. Instead of a pliant cuddling
boy, he was now holding an anxious teenager about
to launch headlong into an attack of self doubt.

Jean urged him up, thinking they might as well be
fixing dinner during the talk he sensed coming on.
As soon as he did it, he realized it was probably
not the right thing to do. Reuben was standing in
front of him, arms across his chest, looking down
with a rising tide of questions in his eyes. The
way he was holding himself had lifted the bottom
edge of his loose sweater. My sweater, he thought,
amused by how Reuben always latched onto the
most worn out and softest of his old clothes. He
was exposing a couple of inches of his tee-shirt
and the drawstring of his pants. The loose plaid
flannel didn't hide the curve of his cock, semi-hard,
jutting out into the folds of the fabric. Jean found it
very arousing. His own cock, stirred from holding
Reuben in his lap, from kissing him, got harder.

"You want to go dancing," Jean said, sitting back
into the armchair, his legs spreading. He saw
Reuben's eyes drop to his crotch as he touched
himself.

"If you do," Reuben said, eyes flickering from
Jean adjusting his dick in his pants, up to his
face.

"What I want," Jean said, "is for you to put
your knees right here." He patted the arms of
the chair. God it was good, he thought, to see
what that did to Reuben's face. Almost as good
as to see what it did to the front of his pants.

Everything else could wait, this was exactly
what Jean wanted. The loosened pants fell part
way down the boy's slim, spread thighs. Reuben's
bare cock was perfectly displayed for him against
the background of the wash worn cotton sweater,
inches in front of his face. Jean happily tortured
him, feeling the quiver run through Reuben's body
as he traced patterns over the bare cheeks of his
ass. Perfect, he thought, admiring the silky shaved
skin, his mouth watering. He gathered up the loose
fabric of sweater and tee-shirt, holding it around
Reuben's waist as he closed his mouth around the
head of his cock.



--------------------


Reuben slid in and out of the warm wetness of
Jean's mouth slowly, trying not to come yet. It
felt too good to give up. Jean's firm, generous
lips hugged his shaft, taking him in so deep he
could feel them press the base, feel the caress of
his bottom lip against his balls. Then Jean's
hand rubbed across his ass, creating light friction,
low, just above the tops of his thighs and Reuben
couldn't contain what that did to him, like a
shiver in the core each cheek. His hands tightened
on the back of the chair, even his toes were trying
to curl in on themselves as he fought and lost the
battle to hold back.

Almost as good, or better than coming, was after.
Sinking down into the support of Jean's hands.
Being held in his lap with the feel of Jean's still
hard cock promising that the hunger Reuben had
felt, even as he'd come, to be fucked, would be
answered.

He didn't even mind when Jean eventually made
him get up. He felt hungry then, and helped close
up the shop, anticipating dinner and a leisurely
session in the playroom, afterwards.

It was only as they were eating, looking at Jean
across the table in the kitchen, that he started to
think about David and dancing. Jean had been
dressed as formally as he ever was for the meeting
that afternoon. Though his clients were friends of
his, they were friends who were accustomed to
him in a suit and tie. Rarities for Jean, but he wore
the clothes beautifully Reuben thought. Still, he
loved to see him this way, stripped down to a
tee-shirt and a pair of track pants. With both the
eyes of a painter and a lover, he studied Jean's
arms. Strong, perfectly shaped forearms, dusted
with dark hair; the long smooth curves of his
biceps, in balance with the rest of his body, the
muscles defined. A gym couldn't give you that
shape, Reuben thought, Jean had been born with
it. He imagined Jean's body in motion on a dance
floor; maybe shirtless, he thought. That made his
dick hard.

"I want to go dancing, Jean," he said. The words
just came out, apropos of nothing. The man sat
back, looking at him. Reuben tried not to flinch
from the directness of Jean's gaze. What does he
think, he wondered, to look at me so seriously? But
then he saw the slight curve of Jean's smile and he
took a deep breath, relieved.

"If you think those legs of yours can still move
by the time I'm done with you, we'll go dancing."

Yes! Reuben could hardly focus on finishing his
dinner.


-----------------------


It was a restless baby Jean had on his hands after
dinner. Reuben was almost squirming on his belly
on top of the towel, and it was straining Jean to his
limit to keep from climbing on top of him and
burying his hard cock in the boy's ass. He slapped
the round butt that was tempting him, maybe a
little harder than he'd meant to, leaving a pink
flush on the cheeks.

"Hold still, child," he cautioned him, and soothed
the flesh he'd slapped with a light stroke. Reuben
peeked at him, over his shoulder, eyes wide with
surprise but excited. Then he hid his face in the
fur of the soft cat. The cat was half under him
but his bear was tucked in beside the cat, both of
them in the curve of his arm. Reuben adored the
cat but couldn't give up the bear. Jean could well
imagine a sea of stuffed animals overtaking the
bed if he allowed it to happen. Not that he would,
but the image of Reuben in a sea of soft fur had
its charm.

Jean spread the cheeks of Reuben's ass gently and
could not resist running his tongue along the seam
of the tender pink skin he exposed. It occurred to him
that this butt would be a disappointment to a lot of
guys into rimming. Reuben's ass was so often
scrubbed, oiled, and lotioned it was more pristine
than most people mouths, he thought. Only when he
forced his tongue inside, through the clenching rings
of muscle was there a hint of his body's musk. The
boy had asked him about douches and enemas. The
subject had caused Reuben to break out in a riot of
blushes but he'd been so determined to get the words
out that Jean hadn't dared smile. Why not, he'd
thought, though he'd done nothing about it yet.

For now, he knew, it was as much teasing as Reuben
could bear to feel the soft swabs inside him. Jean
could read his tremors, the sound of his breathing.

When he turned Reuben over on his back, the boy
was rosy from his groin to his neck, his cock as
rigid and swollen as it could get, his scrotum tight.

Without touching his cock more than necessary,
Jean closed him into the diaper. On the table by
the bed, the bottle was waiting. Jean, however, was
at the end of his ability to wait. He positioned the
boy on his side and got behind him. With a groan
of relief he couldn't suppress, he found the opening
in the cloth and pressed his achingly hard cock
through it into the hot moist canal of Reuben's ass
until his belly was flush against him. He lay still,
feeling the boy's body pulse around him until he
felt under control enough to reach for the bottle
and hold it to Reuben's mouth.

"Drink, baby," he told him. Reuben's face was
a portrait of pleasure, his mouth clamping around
the nipple. Concentrating on holding the bottle for
him helped distract Jean from how badly he wanted
to ram his hard flesh in and out of the warm sheath
squeezing his cock. Instead, he began to fuck him
slowly, just enough to keep himself from losing
his mind; watching Reuben suck. When the boy
let go of the nipple, his milky lips open to let out
a groan, Jean took it away and turned his young
lover onto his stomach, fucking him harder.

Jean felt the boy's hips banging up into his groin
like he couldn't get fucked hard enough and then
Reuben almost froze in midthrust, crying out as he
came. The sound and feel of Reuben coming so
hard made his own climax a thousand times sweeter.
Jean was addicted to this, the power rush as potent
as a drug in intensifying the eruption of his own
orgasm.