God, but his partner’s skin tasted good—hot and salty, with just a hint of bitterness. Valenti had a warm, earthy scent O’Brian associated with fucking. This was the scent that had filled his senses the first time Valenti rode him, filled him with his long cock, fucked him until he came deep in O’Brian’s body. This was the scent of his partner, his friend, his lover ‑‑ it was desire and need and coming home all at once and it had been too damn long since O’Brian had gotten close enough to fill his lungs with it.
“God!” Valenti, still blindfolded, was shivering with the hot feeling of being licked and stroked all over but O’Brian wasn’t done yet ‑‑ not by a long shot. Grabbing Valenti’s wrists, he brought them up to the top of the big brass bed. Then he snapped them closed again, effectively trapping his partner in a helpless position with his arms over his head.
“What are you going to do to me?” Valenti’s voice was rough with fear and desire.
“Have you ever heard of the Spanish Inquisition?” O’Brian asked, not bothering to answer the question.
“Huh?” Valenti moved his head blindly, the black bandana still obscuring his vision. “The Spanish Inquisition?”
“You oughta know this stuff, Corazón,” O’Brian mocked him, using his abuelita’s nickname, the one he knew Valenti hated. “It’s in your blood. Anyway, what it boils down to is during the Spanish Inquisition the bad guy priests tortured people until they told the truth.”
“So what does that have to do with this?” Valenti demanded, rattling the handcuffs against the brass headboard.
“Actually, a helluva lot, babe,” O’Brian told him, going to work on his partner’s black dress pants. “See, I may not be a priest, but I am the bad guy in this situation. And I’m gonna torture you until you tell me what the hell has been bothering you lately. Why you’ve been givin’ me the cold shoulder, why you’re always too busy to come over or go out after work, but mostly why we haven’t fucked in over a month. Got that?” He stripped off his partner’s pants and underwear, taking the shoes and socks along with them and leaving Valenti nude on the dark blue bedspread.
“O’Brian, this is crazy!” Valenti protested.
“No, the way you’ve been actin’ is crazy.” O’Brian toed off his shoes but kept the rest of his clothes on. He liked the idea of having his partner naked and helpless under him and wanted the psychological edge of wearing clothes while Valenti had none.
“O’Brian, I ‑‑”
“What’s been botherin’ you, Nick?” O’Brian straddled his partner’s lean hips and settled himself comfortably so that the thick bulge at the crotch of his jeans was rubbing directly against Valenti’s already half-hard cock. Valenti groaned at the contact as O’Brian rubbed against him, their shafts grinding together through the layer of denim.
“Don’t know … don’t know what you’re talking about,” he gasped.
“Oh, I think you do.” Reaching down, O’Brian shifted so he could wrap his fingers around the long, pulsing shaft. Slowly he stroked from the root up to the flaring head. Precum was already beading at the tip of Valenti’s cock and O’Brian captured some with his thumb, using it for lubrication on the next long, slow stroke. It still amazed him that he wanted another man this much, that his partner’s long, lean, muscular body could make him hotter than any curvy naked woman ever had. He knew why it was, though ‑‑ he and Valenti connected on much more than the physical plane. They had a bond so deep and wide nothing could break it ‑‑ not even Valenti’s little secret, whatever it was.
He admired the way Valenti’s muscles shifted under his smooth, tanned skin as he writhed on the bed, loved the crisp black hair that lay in disarray across his high forehead, the red lips, open in a harsh, panting moan. But most of all O’Brian loved the feel of his partner’s thick cock in his hand, the tender, vulnerable sac that O’Brian knew exactly how to tickle to make Valenti groan. He’d never dreamed that having the same equipment as your lover could be such an advantage before he and Valenti had taken the next step in their relationship. Had never dreamed he could get so much pleasure from the feel of another man’s cock in his hand, in his mouth, from the taste of another man’s cum on his tongue.
“Remember the first time you jerked me off, Valenti?” he asked, still stroking his partner’s aching shaft. “That Wankathon contest at The RamJack?”
“God, yes!” Valenti groaned as O’Brian continued to fist him.
“I remember the way you took charge of me,” O’Brian said, lost in the memory. “The way you made me hold still while you jerked me off. You stroked me just like this …” He demonstrated with another long, slow caress of his partner’s hard cock until Valenti was panting. “Made me come so hard I saw stars,” O’Brian told him. “Remember that?”
“How … how could I forget it?” Valenti asked.
“I dunno. How could you? Tonight is practically our anniversary. A year ago tonight you were fucking my brains out at The RamJack,” O’Brian reminded him. “And yet you’d rather go to some damn stupid benefit than spend the night celebrating with me.”