Date: Fri, 27 Mar 2015 02:02:07 +0000 (UTC)
From: Gaia Farnese <snoringsoftly@yahoo.com>
Subject: Sleep Well, William - part III

A/N: This part of the story is the reason I stopped updating a while
back. Alas, no matter how many times I go over it, I can't find another
way. All I can say now is that all the things that happen have a purpose
and that it gets better (and hotter) the more they get to know each other.

I'm already working on part four so forgive me the short update and expect
a longer one soon.

Finally, Lana Del Rey's Yayo has been a great source of inspiration and one
of the reasons I came back to this story. Please consider giving it a
listen. And -- enjoy the read!

The clock hasn't even ticked off the first 24 hours and I can hardly
believe that this is my life, unfolding like the pilot episode of a
series. It may not seem so, but it strikes me just how much has changed
since I went out last night. It feels surreal to the point I start
considering the possibility that my life is in the hands of a
puppet-master, doing all of this to amuse blank faces out of their
stupor. But that's creepy so my mind quickly accepts a new idea: it feels a
bit like those wild romances you only ever read about – a naïve
youngster, a few questionable decisions and a dramatic set of consequences.

I attempt to feign nonchalance for the duration of my drive home - an
incredibly slow affair if you ask me, asking myself why is it that one
remembers all the insignificant details of the least important periods
between two versions of hell? ~Perhaps, it's to forget something else,~ my
mind quips at me.

I reach Briggs unscathed and considerably poorer, even though he gave me
plenty to pay for the cab. Of course, I didn't think about the general mess
in the traffic and the red lights that seem to distort only to laugh at me;
the evil, time-wasting buggers.

The preoccupation with the traffic prevents me from thinking about the
painting he left all over my neck and shoulders: all visible, and that one
which he left inside: hidden away in a dark corner, awaiting a better time
to make an appearance.

I find Ned at home, watching the telly and absent-mindedly rubbing Fedora's
paw.  "Wild night, huh?" he asks, and that's when it clicks. But I suppose
it's too late to hide now.

"Got carried away," I murmur unconvincingly, trying my best to keep
calm. Ned, much like my aunt, knows Helen all too well to believe that she
would do something of the sort. But then, people can ~and~ do surprise. I
am living proof of that.

I stand around idly for a bit but "Be careful, Iz," is all that he
adds. When I pass by to go and take a shower I fervently hope that I don't
reek of male, and sex, something he would undoubtedly recognize right away.

It's years later that I discover he knew it all along; knew that I'd been
with someone far more assertive than Helen, although he'd had her written
off the moment he saw her on the doorstep, looking for me in the early
hours of the same afternoon. I don't think I have ever been more grateful
for his quiet nature and inclination to keep out of other people's
business.

I don't feel like talking to Kalla because I know that she will speak to me
about things I don't want to hear right now, so I call Marie and ask her
how to cover up the scattered bruises. She doesn't ask any questions, but
suggests plenty of complicated techniques involving make-up until I end the
call, frustrated and sad, and definitely not looking forward to wearing
scarves until the purples and pinks recede. Though just before I pronounce
it a lost cause, it turns out there is a solution and help comes from the
least likely source – Ned himself. I press ice to my extensive mapping
while he feeds the cat. I beg him not to tell my aunt and he promises he
won't, but asks me to be careful one more time. I go to bed exhausted, both
physically and emotionally, refusing to think about anything else other
than the day ahead.

~

"Such sweet words, William." Brave, coming from someone who's standing
naked in front of him, for him, in the middle of yet another bedroom. ~His
bedroom.~

"And what about you?" he shoots back.

What about me?

"What about me?"

"Playing coy, provoking, leading me on, only to leave me cold?"

"Seduction is not the same as manipulation," I say in self-defense,
belatedly realising just what it is that I'm saying. Not that it makes any
sense, but that's what I get for playing a game like this with him. His
whole demeanour changes and it's a repeat of the heat I heard in his voice
last night in the booth. "Well then, don't we both have the same goal in
mind...?" he says more than asks this time, thumb going in circles over my
hip.

I weight down my options. It's only sex, isn't it? He knows a lot about it
and he probably knows a lot about boys new to sex too. I can trust him to
show me everything I need to know. It's then that I make the decision to
reach out and let him in. It's not that it's too late and I'm already
standing naked at the foot of his bed. ~He'll have me then.~

It is I who trapped myself this time around. At least he's got the grace
not to ridicule me as I bend my head and give in. He won't let me sulk so
he makes me climb on the bed, then joins me. "Come," he says and pats his
thighs softly. I feel slightly filthy as I comply, but it excites me.

I glance at the side and notice my pale face in the mirror, aligned with
his shoulder. It's a bit disconcerting and I think he notices too because
he rotates us so that he faces the mirror instead.

It's a short work of getting me on his lap and I don't know what to do, but
he presses our bodies closer, and my ass parts under his hands. I bite his
shoulder when he tries to insert a digit.

He seems to get the message but then, as soon as this thought crosses my
mind, I feel his cock slip between my cheeks. He rocks us gently and I can
hardly focus on anything else, caught up as I am in the moment, expressing
my amazement and satisfaction through moans. He doesn't look at me when I
look up to find his eyes, needing him to reassure me that it's all right to
moan, and sigh, and thoroughly enjoy him debauching me. He eyes the mirror
instead.

"You should see yourself," he tells me in a whisper.

His cock slides slowly, undemanding yet hot. When I follow the path of his
eyes I realise that I'm moving with him, cheeks clenching and unclenching
to the rhythm he sets. It explains why he's so quiet but I wonder if it's
enough for him - if he manages to get enough pleasure out of it.

"You can always do more," he whispers in my ear. I kiss him instead of
answering.

He smiles and rubs noses, then he rubs my cock. I tense up in pleasure and
turn once again, to take a look at our reflection, and to focus, like he
does, on the hands gripping my bum tightly and that lovely, pierced cock
head perking up.

"I like this," I whisper against his neck, embarrassed and wanton.

"Do you?" comes the breathy answer.

"Yesssssss," I reply, just as he fondles the skin behind my balls, then
presses down gently.

I reach around to give his cock a passing caress. "You're dying for that
blowjob, aren't you?"

The slow pace of his smile is a contrast to my wild heart beating away
madly.

"You're dying to give it to me, aren't you?"

I kiss him, because I want to and because it's the easiest way to retreat
from unknown territory.

Before I'm conscious of us moving he has us horizontal, and we manage to
tangle ourselves even closer than before. The sliding stops when he grabs
my hips and maneuvers me on top. He pulls away from the kiss to gaze at me
steadily. There is no question asked better than the one asked through a
single look, nor is there a better answer then the one a smile gives
away. Thus, there is no desire bigger than the one that follows such an
exchange.

"I don't really know –" I start, shy smile stretching the lips I'm
trying to purse.

"You do."

"No, you don't unde—"

"I understand just fine."

"That's not—"

"Iszaya. Please. Now."

His eyes are raw, and stunning. I forget to close my mouth so he, the
perverted bastard that he is, pushes a finger between my slack lips, only
to gasp when I shut my mouth around it and suckle gently, tongue drawing a
random pattern underneath. His cock twitches against the small of my back
and he lets out a delicious sigh that does more to encourage me than
anything else before.

Taking away his finger, he pushes me down. I close my eyes for a brief
moment, overwhelmed with the sudden worry that I'll fuck it up
somehow. When I open them, his cock fills my vision, causing a sensory
overload because I inhale too, and what I inhale is so very William - a
rich, musky scent full of promises. I throw myself into it, grabbing the
base of his cock and licking up the length, the same path I traced with my
finger less than 12 hours ago. I reach the pierced head and collect it in
my mouth, trying my best to keep teeth out of the way, even though his
piercing is large enough to bump around in my mouth. I'm kinda afraid I'll
start choking if I take more in so I don't push it, and I'm grateful that
he possesses an iron self-control.

Either that or I'm truly horrible at this.

I nuzzle his thigh when he speaks up. "Look at me."

I bet he'll tell me to stop and relax or something along those lines. He
pulls on my hair and grabs my face, but I keep staring steadfastly at his
cock. It's slick and so very big up-close. I breathe over it and my breath
fogs up the metal of the piercing.

Unable to help myself anymore, I let my forehead press to his stomach, lips
an inch away from his straining cock. Holding my breath, I open my mouth to
take as much as I can, tracing the edges of the piercing with the tip of my
tongue.

I try to breathe through my nose and, even though I fail the first few
times, I think I'm starting to get the hang of it. I know that he's still
watching - he hasn't gone limp, so I suppose I'm passable.

Taking a break for more air I kiss and lick the length, pulling a sound
from him when I suck a bit more strongly on a string of skin under his
piercing. "Mmmhn," I hear and stop immediately.

"Please tell me I'm not hurting you."

"No, keep doing that."

I repeat the suction but he doesn't leave me much space to
experiment. Suddenly, he grabs himself in his fist, locking the head in its
firm grip. I brave a glance and find him lost in pleasure instead of
fixated on me. I understand before I spot the milky droplets leaking from
between his fingers, and I'm giddy at the thought that he wouldn't have me
choke on it, the gentleman he is. In gratitude, and largely using the
opportunity that he's not watching me, I pry his fist open and lick his
cock clean. I could do without the taste, but I've a feeling I could get
used to it.

When I rest my head on this stomach this time, it's with the intention to
keep my mouth closed, but he seems to retrieve his wit so he engages me in
a playful conversation.

"Does your mouth hurt?"

"... a bit."

"Good."

"Was I any good?"

"I should think that's obvious."

I sigh and kiss the rib under my chin.

"You did good. Happy?"

"William, you should sing praise to me," I tell him in-between fits of
giggles. "After all, you managed to convince me to do it."

"... as if you needed much conviction."

"Har, har."

"Shush."

We both go quiet at first but then: "May I try again?" I ask him, in more
of a whisper than voice.

He fidgets before he answers, which could've turned out funny, hadn't I
been so unsure of my mouth.

"Now?"

"No. No. Just... another time?"

"I'd be happy to receive your attentions."

"Oh shut it!"

"You asked."

I nestle closer to him and consider dozing off but he makes a move to stand
up.

"Nooo! Don't ruin it..." I whine at him.

"I'll just go wash my hand."

When he returns I'm seated on the edge of the bed, staring out of the
window. There's really nothing special out there, but it's better than what
I see from my own bed every morning.

Out of nowhere, a mug comes into view, making me fight hard (and
subsequently lose) to resist snickering.

"It must be cold by now, but I seem to recall you wanting it badly," he
explains as he hands it over to me, voice light and full of laughter. I
take a sip, analyzing the intent behind his quirky little smile, when he
asks if I'd like to order lunch. I stare at his face, then his naked form,
comparing the thought of lunch with his comfortable nudity.

"What, you're not cooking for me?"

"Well, I was thinking we can't spoil you so now, can we?" he shoots back,
handing me a tee shirt. It's worn and soft, and it smells like him. I smile
to the floor before I put it on.

We share a moment when he touches my cheek and I look up to him.

"Can we play some music?" I ask him quietly.

~

I feel free, more than ever, in that old shirt of William's, dancing around
the apartment to ~Feeling Good~. He joins me at one point and we swirl and
laugh until we hit the sofa, falling on top of each other.

It feels fantastic and more than just a bit comfortable - lying there in
William's arms without a thought to spare for the world outside. When the
music changes, I sing Lana's ~Yayo~ to him, nearly causing both of us to
fall asleep in the following silence, warmed by the comfort and closeness
loosely traced by ever-present desire. The doorbell chimes then, and, in an
instant, we're both up - previous coziness shattered.

A wonderful, rich aroma of Thai food fills the air as he serves our
food. Using the fact that he's busy with it, I walk up to him and startle
him with a kiss. I kiss him long and hard, to thank him for the food, but
halfway through I decide I want to thank him for everything with the same
kiss. When he finally moves away it's only to tell me that our meal is
getting cold, resuming the kiss himself after we're done sampling the
delicacies of the Thai people.

As dusk falls rapidly I feel slightly bitter feelings surface. It's one
thing to let go and enjoy my time with William, and another to have to
forcibly pull myself out of our cocoon. I'm anything but ready to face the
reality on the other side of the walls.

I wonder if he will ask to see me again. It doesn't make any sense. As
limited as my knowledge is, you don't treat people the way he treats me,
unless you don't plan on seeing them again. But then, courteousness aside,
he's revealed so much to me, almost convincing me that he wants to keep me
by his side for as long as possible, if his kisses are anything to go by.

Alas, his motives remain unknown for the remainder of the time we spend
together. He doesn't initiate another round of sex, nor does he ask to meet
up again sometime. With the arrival of the evening I realise that I might
be growing bothersome so I go to the bedroom to change back into my
clothes.

The bed is a messy reminder.  Taking off the shirt is quite the ordeal but,
by the time I'm done and out of the bedroom, I have already started
scoffing at my imbecilic attachment to a piece of cloth.

I find William busy, staring at the wall across from him.

"Are you going to leave now?" he asks me without as much as looking in my
direction.

"Well, it doesn't look like you'll be having me a lot longer."

"Iszaya, don't be ridiculous."

His bitter smile confirms my unvoiced suspicion and I decide that it's time
to leave him for good. A brief flicker of hope flares up in my chest when
he looks in my direction, but his eyes no longer hold the haziness I'm fond
of. It feels like betrayal and still, I have no choice but to accept it as
it is. He's not going to offer anything more than this because my time is
up.

There must be something showing on my face because he tells me to: "Please
spare me your histrionics."

"Oh my g—I'm tired of your rudeness, William! I'm tired of you and
trying to figure out what you want!"

"Look who's talking! Last I took a note it was you who started playing
games you don't know how to play," he says as he stands up. I'm beyond
words yet it vaguely feels like I shouldn't let go right now.

"That's enough." I tell him. "I'm leaving!"

I get my stuff, trying my best to ignore his "Very well." I don't want to
turn and look at him before I leave, but I can't find the key to unlock the
door, besides he creeps up behind me on his own. He doesn't look at me
until he has both doors open wide, and then he looks only to hand me a few
banknotes.

I consider punching him but he says "It's for the cab" before I understand
enough to raise my fist.

His eyes are bright and cold.

I give it up, turning around without bothering to say goodbye. I pretend
I'm not listening when he closes the doors, hating the fact that he had the
presence of a mind to summon a cab.

~End of part three~

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