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The Biter Bit

By Nova
Page 2 of 5

When other people are uncertain, they stammer or slur or can't finish their sentences. Avon's voice was, naturally, as precise as ever, although its timbre had modulated into something remote and melancholy. The effect was disconcertingly erotic. Abandoning any pretence of altruism, I steered him across the room and shoved him down onto the bed. As I settled next to him, his fingers went sneaking inside my shirt to close over the mound of my pectoral. I gasped uncontrollably, covered his hand with mine and squeezed hard.

At the contact, his eyes flamed and then cleared. 'Are you sure?' he asked in a temporary access of rationality. 'If you want me to stop -'

'Could you?' I teased and watched a blush of sexual heat course through that creamy skin.

'It would not be easy,' he admitted. 'But there is no point in continuing, unless you are willing. This is not one of our arguments on the flight deck, Blake.' I found that an interesting analogy. To me, the current situation seemed exactly like all our flight deck arguments, except that this time I could take the sexual charge behind my antagonism to its logical conclusion. I smiled down at him, releasing his hand, and stroked his cheek with assumed concern.

'And you, Avon? Are you sure?' I asked, knowing the answer, and Avon said, fairly desperately, 'Hell, yes.'

That took care of the preliminaries rather nicely. No chance for Avon to turn this against me later, not after such unequivocal consent. I laughed and began to undress him, shunting him around to get at the somewhat overcomplicated fastenings on his garments, while his hands continued to explore any part of my body within their grasp. As I eased his pants over his hips, his cock sprang up, taut and engorged, magnificently erect. He moaned and rubbed compulsively against my thigh, then pushed me away and rasped, 'You too,' knotting his fists in the sheet to prevent himself from reaching out again.

I stood and stripped my clothes off at a leisurely pace, enjoying the opportunity to study Avon stretched full length on moss-green satin, eyes shuttered, cock rampant, hips bearing down helplessly as a drift of breeze from the window brushed across sensitised skin. 'You need it pretty badly, don't you?' I observed, unable to suppress a grin.

His eyes flicked open. 'Don't ask questions to which you already possess the answer,' he snarled. 'If you know what I need, then give it to me, Blake. Now, for preference.'

When I collapsed onto the bed, a sigh escaped from his lungs, rapture mingled with anguish. He writhed against me, trying for as much skin contact as possible, and I obliged by rolling on top of him and pinning him to the mattress. That seemed to calm him slightly - enough, at any rate, to let him capture my hand and wrap it round that rampant cock. Three firm strokes and he was coming for me: a rapid glide of hot slick skin, an ironhard shaft working my fist like a piston, a ragged white pennant of semen fluttering valiantly on the air. A riot of motion, battering at my chest and whimpering with relief when I held firm. As I settled my full weight onto him, trapping his pulsing cock against my thigh, he clutched me like a drowner and gasped, 'Thank you, Blake.'

That mightn't sound like much but since complete bastards never thank anyone for anything, it made quite a strong impression on me. For a moment I almost regretted what I'd done. It seemed poignantly unfair for Avon to be thanking me, when I was the one who'd put him in this position. And what a position - splayed out beneath me, his chest heaving, his cock still semi-erect . Fairness be damned. I might as well make the most of this, while I had the chance.

I levered myself up and sat back on my haunches, planning my next move. As I ran a leisurely hand across the dark-furred torso wedged between my thighs, Avon struggled onto one elbow and angled his head towards my groin. Considerably more reciprocal than I'd expected. For an electrifying half-second, I wanted nothing more than to ram my cock past those perfect lips and thrust till I came. But, unlike Avon, I couldn't count on the lotos to keep me going for the rest of the night, so I locked my hands round the back of his skull, tilting his face towards me, and said, 'Not yet. Let me fuck you again.'

Another sudden sexual blush, followed by a barely audible 'yes'. I smiled at the conflict between lust and reluctance and went on tracking the patterns of fine black hair down Avon's chest, my eyes fixed on his, so that I could gauge his reaction as my fingertips skimmed closer to his nipples. When I brushed lightly across rosebrown nubs, he froze and tried to twist away. I clamped my knees against his ribs to remind him who was master here and tweaked harder, murmuring, 'Like that, do you?'

'Isn't it obvious?' Avon snapped, hoisting his shoulder higher in an attempt to shield his face. He didn't stand a chance, of course. I rolled his nipples meditatively between thumb and forefinger until he bucked and flung his head back, then repeated, level and inexorable, 'Do you like that, Avon?'

'Yes!' he hissed resentfully, although when I leaned forward to let my mouth take over from my hands, he arched towards me, sighing, 'Ah, yes, Blake.' I sucked greedily, swirling a tight bud around my tongue, shifted across to give the other nipple its fair share of attention and lifted my head to ask, rather breathlessly, 'What else do you like?' A risky question, considering the recipient, but I was in a risk-taking mood. I gazed at the shadowed planes of that perversely beautiful face, waiting for some esoteric instruction, then tensed in surprise as Avon whispered, 'Kiss me.'

The pad of flesh inside his lower lip was sleek and sweet, even more delicate than the skin that lines the wrist or caps a cock. I bit it gently and probed deeper, venturing past neat sharp teeth to graze the rough velvet of Avon's tongue, exploring the slippery ridges of the palate, frolicking through a haven of warm wetness. Kissing changes your perspective: it's difficult to feel like a detached observer with your tongue in another man's mouth. I was cradling Avon in my arms by now, nibbling on his lips while he moaned and heaved in long slow spasms that rubbed his cock down my belly. With the feel of him against my skin and the sound of him in my ears, it was even harder to hold back from orgasm: but I managed it. For a moment there, I almost wished I'd sampled the lotos myself, to prolong my endurance, but my mind's been messed with so often that I'm wary about that sort of thing.

Still, my struggle for discipline had much the same effect. After the initial effort, I reached a plateau of sustained arousal that enabled me to indulge all my flight deck fantasies, without any fear of losing control. I kissed Avon's mouth one last time and swerved round to kneel over his cock, cossetting and handling the glossy shaft with an obsessive concentration that came close to nostalgia - if it's possible to feel nostalgic about something that's still happening. Never again, my mind whispered regretfully, as I weighed the suede sac of his balls in my hand. Never again, as I licked my way up a tightly corded vein. Never again, as I fitted the cockhead into my mouth.

Never again. Never again. Never again.

Regret must be contagious. At any rate, Avon seemed to be as eager as I was, judging by the tremors that racked his body and the frantic hands burrowing through my curls. I teased him for a little longer, then relented and gulped his cock into the back of my throat, relaxing the muscles and working them rhythmically round the shaft. He sobbed once and came, murmuring, 'Blake ... Blake... Blake ..' at the intervals of a slow heartbeat, culminating in a heartstopping cry of either pleasure or pain: by that point, it was hard to differentiate. A gush of heat across my palate and the pungent aftertaste of wormwood scalding my tongue. I swallowed the bitter cream with a final pang of nostalgia and fell back onto the pillows, slipping an arm under Avon's shoulders.

That's the one of the parts I like best, although I hadn't expected to enjoy it with Avon. Despite our temporary truce, I was sure the war would be on again once words returned. But in fact the aftermath was unpredictably peaceful. I lay there, smoothing dishevelled brownsilk hair and telling Avon how lovely he was, while he concentrated on dragging a series of harsh uneven breaths into his lungs. For once, that restless mind was almost completely freed from thought. Even when Avon had finally got his breathing under control, he stayed where he was, snuggled into my side with one leg slung over my thigh. Encouraged by this sign of relative trust, I hitched him closer and sent my hand skidding down his spine, to close round the peach-shaped buttocks that I used to watch from the far side of the flight deck.

That prompted the reaction I'd been anticipating all along: Avon jerking away as though my hand were a branding iron, marked Property of Roj Blake. Under normal circumstances, I would have responded with some sort of cutting comment but, lulled by the rest, I decided to investigate further. When I leaned sideways, running a cautious scan down Avon's body, I could see his cock already beginning to stir and stiffen. So that was what he'd been trying to hide. Apparently, the lotos hadn't finished with him yet.

Good. Neither had I.

Surprise is the essence of attack. I sank my teeth into the solid bar of muscle that held Avon's shoulders tense, causing him to gasp and swivel towards me, which, of course, made his erection blatantly obvious. He stared back defiantly for half a second, then sighed soundlessly and flung his arms up in a gesture of surrender, abandoning any attempt to conceal the intensity of his response. I laughed and hooked his legs onto my shoulders, reached for the array of jars on the bedside table and pressed a cream-slick hand against the elastic pucker of his arse. It expanded instantly, engulfing two fingers and then three, sucking and gripping till they were buried knuckle-deep.

'Now,' Avon said imperiously, so I took him at his word, withdrawing my hand and driving my cock straight in. He clenched around me, a succession of violent contractions that jacked his pelvis higher and hurled him hard against me, hands ripping at the pillows, heels drumming on my back. Up until that moment, there had still been a residual element of Avon on display, striking poses to compel my admiration. That was all gone now. He was fighting tooth and nail to give me everything he'd got. Desperate. Driven. Utterly defenceless. Wide open - and I mean that both metaphorically and literally.


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