I remember it like it was yesterday, to follow that old cliché. It was in '29 - that's 2029, you imbecile, geez, don't ask while I'm talking - and the pollution in Los Angeles II was so bad that I was losing customers. Which says something. In LA II, the drunks tended to come whenever the hell they could, even when they were supposed to be at work; their departure from the bar meant something damn serious. I was getting pissed off about lack of business, so I left my flat above the bar - it was called Luna back then, before anyone'd ever considered using the moon for colonizing; it used to be a pretty appealing name - and ended up passed out on the street from loss of oxygen. It happened a lot that year. Go figure. Cars don't look so good anymore, do they?
Yeah, that was the year that the first ships sailed away from Earth to the new colonies. The first year that the volunteers left. Since then, there's been a flood coming here, and some going to the experimental Martian colony. No way in hell would you catch me there. Too much risk, even for the likes of me. Besides, what kind of business do you think would honestly thrive on that dump? Especially a bar like mine. They can kiss my ass and suck my dick, but I ain't gonna go to Mars. Maybe when hell freezes over. Knowing the current state of Earth, though, I wouldn't be surprised. So I guess I have to change the analogy. How about when Venus is terraformed? Yeah, that one works just fine.
Well, anyway, here I am, standing in a bar that I hate, on a satellite that I hate, giving people I hate drinks that I hate to make. I'm chocked full of hate and negativity. And you know what? I don't give a flying fuck. There ain't anything in my life to make this better. Or at least, there wasn't till he walked in the door. I'm eyeing this little - well, not at all little - dish and seeing exactly what I like: casual stride, nice looooong legs, wild brown hair barely held in a loose ponytail, and best of all, obviously gay. You can tell. At least I can. Gaydar works wonders.
He plops his sweet ass down right in front of me and gives me a smirk. Nice, baby, let me see that mouth for a while before it's going down on me. And he will go down on me. I always have my way. This one's no different. " Straight vodka," he tells me. His voice is deep, husky; I should've expected it from such a tall, muscular guy. I mean, if you could see him, you could tell he works out or something. A powerhouse, baby, and just the way I like 'em. I practically drool as I nod and get the drink for him. The stuff's expensive now, being on the moon and all, but I guess a guy wearing such fancy leather clothes can afford it. Slapping it down, I watch him hungrily. He gulps it in one quick go, tossing it back like it's nothing. That's so damn sexy. I could just fuck him now. Or be fucked by him. Whatev.
"Want another?" I ask. I hope I don't sound too desperate; I probably come on too strong. Or something. It's pretty damn obvious that I want something from him, and not just his cash, either.
His smirk broadens and he rakes his thick, shaggy bangs out of his face. He looks just as good with his hair sticking out at weird angles as he does with it hanging loose over his eyes, which, I just now notice, are almost creepily yellow. Gold, really. Like a wolf, sorta, or some other feral predator. "If ya would be so kind, darlin'," he says. Ooh, and a Southern accent to boot. I didn't notice that before, and it gets me painfully hard. Dammit! He'll be able to tell!
I smile and nod, fetch the drink, slap it down, and watch reverently as he slugs it down again. God, I could get really used to this. "Keep 'em comin'," he prompts me.
No need to say anything more. I get straight to work and, since nobody else amongst the useless fucks at the bar seems to require my immediate attention, I spend the next half hour serving him vodka till he's finally had enough to look out of it. I'm shocked. Most people'd be passed out dead on the floor by now, and he looks pretty freakishly sane. Fuck, his drawl isn't even slurring too much! I can tell it's more pronounced with all the alcohol intake, yep, but otherwise? Nah, nothing too big's happened. "We-ell, hun, ya wanna come home with me tonight?" he asks, reaching out and placing his hand over mine on the bar. I can't help but marvel at the fact that his hand's bigger than mine, quite a bit so. It's a refreshing change from my other lovers, all of whom've been small and delicate and awfully girly.
"All right," I say, trying to play it cool. I kick the other boozehounds out of the bar, herding them onto the unsurprisingly crowded sidewalk. Grabbing my coat, which is so old I don't even know why the fuck I bother, I trail after my Southern sex god in awe. He waits for me so I catch up to him. He wraps his arm around my waist, tight, binds me to him at the hip. We're almost the same height, me maybe a few measly inches shorter. About two, I'd guess, but I ain't never been much good with measuring crap. "Where're we going?" I don't want to find out he's a serial killer or anything. There're people like that littering the streets around this neighborhood. One of 'em's even been in my bar a few times. Freaky, ain't it? I thought so, too.
"Jes' ta mah place, babe," he replies calmly, hailing one of the cabs rushing by. He has good luck; one pulls over immediately and he helps me in. What a gentleman, and no, that isn't sarcasm in my voice. It feels good to be treated like that. Yeaaaah, I could get real used to this. "It's not far. In Mare Tranquillitatis."
I do my best not to choke. He says it so casual-like, acting like it's no big deal to live in the most fucking expensive area around. I mean, shit, man, the place has houses like damn palaces, and they cost billions. The only ones who can even come close to affording those palaces are the manufacturing tycoons who make all the mobile armors and guns and shit that big corporations use to wage war on each other. I guess maybe that's what he is. "Are you -"
"Name's Aramis Grey, darlin'," he introduces himself. "If that's what ya were gonna ask."
Choking, I manage to make a tiny sound that sounds a lot like "meep." Must sound real intelligent to him. Jesus H. Fucking Christ, the man is the second-richest human alive! He's the biggest weapons manufacturer in history! Everyone, even those drunkass idiots in my bar, know that, and here I am, about to go to bed with him, probably be fucked to hell and back by him? Shit, I must be either really hot or really damn lucky. I think I died and went to heaven. I don't deserve it, but still, God loves me tonight for some psycho reason. "Are you for real?" I ask a few minutes later. Thank God the cab driver's politely ignoring us. Otherwise there'd be paparazzi all over us like flies. Geh. Not my idea of arousing, and not yours, either, I'm sure. Although with a hard on like mine, it'd be hard to get it to flag after a few reporters asked me dumbassed questions.
He grins and squeezes my knee in one strong hand. It sends shivers up my spine when he nods and responds, "As real as y'are. Look, dun worry about it, 'kay? I don't take jes' anyone home."
"But -" Ooh, I sound so fucking smart. I feel bad for him, picking some aging, stupid bartender with no life whatsoever. I'm sure he'll have the fuck of his life with me, and that is sarcasm, in case you couldn't tell! Where he'll be implanted in my pathetic brain for the rest of my damn life, I'll be nothing to him but another bad judgment, too -many-vodkas quickie. Damn. Life sucks ass more'n I ever have and ever will.
"I said dun worry, babe, ain't that good enough for ya?" He doesn't sound angry; when I look at him a little fearfully, he's smiling as broadly as ever. That's a good sign. I relax a little and embolden myself enough to press closer to him. My, my, but he's a sexy piece of ass. If I weren't so sure he was going to be the one doing the fucking, I'd want to fuck his brains out. Mmm, and he smells good, too. Whatever the hell kind of cologne he has on - and I'll betcha my bar and my life savings that it costs more than my life's worth - it's worth the money. I let out a breathy noise, almost subconsciously, and before I can get too embarrassed, he chuckles a little and wraps his arm around my waist again to pull me closer still. "Jeezuz," he hisses. At first, I think I dreamed it, but when I feel him kissing my neck, I know it's no dream. His lips feel very real.
I let out another breathy noise and move so that he has to stop kissing my neck and start kissing my mouth. Oh, God, I never ever want it to stop as he slides his tongue into my mouth and we kiss like there's no tomorrow. I moan against his mouth, he smiles against mine; uh-huh, all's right with the world. There could be a nuclear bomb dropped right now, or one of his big, scarily dangerous mobile armors deployed to detonate the entire city, and I wouldn't give a rat's ass. Nuh-uh, I'm staying with my man here and making out for all I'm worth. Which, hey, isn't that much, but I'm giving it my best shot. He's outdoing me, though, groping me and working wonders with his mouth. I break the kiss, out of breath, and look him over as I pant for air. "How...much...longer?" I gasp out.
He squeezes my ass - how'd his hand get there?! - and grins at me more. "Be patient. Mebbe five minutes."
Great. Five more minutes that seem like five millennia. I want to be fucked right now, dammit, right now in the backseat of this cab with a driver mere feet away and capable of watching. Hell, it might even turn me on; I've never tried exhibitionism before. I'd do anything if it meant making Aramis fuck me quicker, or making him happy. Man, a few minutes with him has turned me into a sap. I can already feel the ache of getting kicked out tomorrow morning and returning to the routine of everyday, commoner life. I can't think about that too much.
Thankfully, I don't have to. We're in the heart of Mare Tranquillitatis, and the driver slows down outside the gates of an enormous estate. So big that I can't even see where the house is from here. Okay, so I can, but it's far away in the distance, up a long private road. Aramis disentangles himself from me long enough to lean out the window and punch a code into the pad on the gate. The driver hurries up the road, speeding faster than should be legal, and jerks to a halt at the doors of the biggest house I have ever seen in my no longer young life. Aramis helps me out of the car again, which is damn good, 'cause otherwise I'd've fallen flat on my face. Paying the driver, who leaves, he takes me inside.
I don't have time to admire anything. I wouldn't want to even if I did; I'm too caught up in being with him to give a damn whether I'm in the solar system's biggest palace or in the seedy love hotel down the street from my bar. He all but drags me into the lift - he has to have one, with a palacial house like this - and shoves me into the corner, where he fucks my mouth with his tongue till there's a little ding and the doors open. He keeps dragging me down a hallway to a bedroom. He slams the door in his eagerness and pounces on me again, leaving me sprawled out on the bed with my legs wide open. He puts his body in between them and kisses me the whole time he's unbuttoning my shirt and stripping it off me hurriedly.
I start groaning when he moves his mouth from mine and lavishes all that attention on my nipples. Oh, Jesus, God in Heaven! I want to start gripping his hair and screaming like a woman, and he hasn't even sucked my dick yet. I satisfy myself instead with pulling the tie out of his hair and letting it fall loose across my skin. Feels fucking good; my fingers latch onto it as he keeps licking and sucking and even biting my nipples. I just lead him on with all the humiliating noises I make. I've never been this loud during sex before, and I shock even myself when I feel my orgasm about to hit me. He reaches down all of a sudden, lightning fast, and does something with my balls so I can't come. I let out a little cry at that, deprived of my pleasure. Not for long. He kisses my lips again, unfastening my pants and kicking off my boots for me. He does it all so fast that I'm dizzy by the time he's stroking my inner thighs with feathery touches of his long fingers. "Oh, God!" I sigh in unrestricted pleasure, unable t contain myself. So what if I sound stupid?
I know that I do sound stupid when he flicks his tongue against my cock. I know that the scream that wrenches itself from me must sound horribly amusing to him. I open my eyes again and look down at him, trying to read his expression. Forget that. He's already running his tongue agonizingly slowly up my cock and back down, listening to me moan and scream the whole time. I can't help it. The instant he wraps his whole mouth around me, I come. He doesn't stop me this time; instead, he swallows every last bit of my cum and pulls his mouth off my aching dick. I'm still hard, amazingly. How could I not be, after a blowjob and such attentions as this? "Please," I barely choke. "Oh, God." There I go again. I'm not even religious, but this whole experience is so sacred that he might as well be canonized. Yep, God loves me.
Aramis smiles at that and licks his lips. "Please what, darlin'?" he teases me.
"Please," I try again, "fuck me. Now."
He chuckles quietly. "Like I said, sugah, ya gotta be patient." While I watch in miserable admiration, he peels off his pricey leather outfit and chucks it aside. He's naked now, in all his glory. Just the sight makes me moan. "All right, get on yer hands n' knees." I do it without question, without noise. I'm out of it. "Ya know the drill. Relax, baby." All the pet names he can give me are unnaturally arousing, unlike with some other lovers I've had, and I do my best to calm down a little. I still have to actually endure for more than a minute when he gets that friggin' big dick inside me. There's the sound of something being opened, and then...
I scream wantonly - it's been too long, or he's got really big fingers, or something - upon that index finger entering me. He wriggles it slightly, making me bite back a second scream. My knees and elbows feel like they're about to buckle and leave me a worthless, limp, pleasure-ridden corpse on his bed. Any other time, that might be okay. This, though... This is the fuck of a lifetime. I can't just cop out like that. I won't forgive myself if I do anything to disappoint him. "Get ready," he orders me, and puts in the second finger. Just like that. Easy as you please. Except for, obviously, the fact that I let out a cry of pain. I haven't been fucked in so long that it's plain debasing.
He waits on me while I get used to having two fingers inside me. I feel so full already; I bet if I asked, he'd indulge me and just fuck me with those two fingers till I came. Wouldn't be long, I can tell you that. I won't do that, though. I won't. "Keep going," I exhale thickly.
"I said be patient." And then, whaddayaknow, he does fuck me with those two fingers. Even with the first slow thrust, he hits my prostate and I scream like a whore. It only takes about five repetitions before I lose it and come. Hard. I keep my impaled ass in the air, but my hands collapse and I put my face down against the welcoming softness of the bed. It smells comfortingly like he does, with a faint whiff of his cologne. I could stay like this, in the afterglow of having his fingers fuck me better than I've ever been fucked in my entire meaningless existence, forever and I would never be bored. Maybe he would, though. My breathing shaky, I force myself to rise again after a few minutes. "Sure ya wanna go through with this?" He asks the question so softly, so soothingly, that if he were still fucking me, I'd probably've come again. I'm getting turned on by the weirdest stuff tonight, I know.
"I'm damn sure," I answer. My voice is shaky, like my breathing, but no less confident. "Fuck me."
Gripping my hips with one hand, he pushes his third finger into me. Inadvertently - or maybe it was on purpose - he brushes my prostate again, lightly, but nonetheless, enough to draw a hoarse scream from me. "Do it!" I command. "Come on, I won't break!"
"The lady doth protest too much," he says with laughter in his voice. "Yeh're too tight still, sugah."
"I am not," I protest, just as he says. "I want it, now give it to me!"
He doesn't say anything else. He does, however, give me a fourth finger to think about. I don't actually think about it, mind you; I'm too busy screaming bloody murder to have any rational thoughts. After he fucks me for a bit with his fingers, all but his whole hand in my ass, he decides that I'm ready. "'Kay," he murmurs. "Relax."
I scream like a whore or a woman or a virgin little girl, and that's with only the head of his dick inside me. It feels too big to fit; I tell him as much in two breathy, pained words: "Too...big..." And then I feel the tears, both of embarrassment and of agony, streaming down my cheeks. You wouldn't believe me if I told you how much it Goddamn hurts. I think he tore something on accident. Well, it ain't that bad, but you get the picture, don'tcha?
"I'll stop," he offers, now holding onto my hips with two hands to steady me and probably to restrain himself from thrusting further into me. He must be enjoying himself, because I can hear that his voice is huskier than before, and choked with pleasure. Since he feels that way about it, hell, I'll make sacrifices.
"No," I say firmly. "Bring it on. I said I wanted you to fuck me, now fuck me." I try to push back and impale myself further, which barely succeeds. With the fraction of an inch I gain in doing so, I let out another scream.
"God," he breathes. "So tight!"
I whimper a little, my head drooping from the torturous pain. It breaks him. He pushes all the way into me. He goes slow and easy on me, yeah. Like before, I'm screaming and screaming till my voice breaks and all I can do is emit small cries and whines, interspersed with the occasional mewl of pleasure when he pulls out of me and thrusts back in. Oddly enough, I feel myself getting aroused; one of his hands creeps from its place at my hip and fondles my cock at the same rhythm of his shoving into me. I keep crying the entire time he fucks me - it's pretty long, given how hard I've gotten in a matter of seconds. "Unnnh, don't stop," I groan when he hesitates for a moment.
"I don't wanna keep hurtin' ya -"
"You won't if you keep it up. I'll get used to it," I reply. How strange that I'm the one reassuring him when, if anything, I should demand reassurance myself! Life is fucked up.
So am I. He restarts with a frantic pace, fast enough to nearly push me face first into the mattress. Now I know what they mean when they say "fucked into the mattress;" I know it can happen literally. I regain my voice enough to scream. It turns him on, apparently, 'cause he fucks me harder and harder, and then finally, when I think I'm about to explode, he comes inside me with an impassioned cry of his own. His hand on my hip tightens furiously, then subsides to maintain only a faltering hold on me. I come an instant later, lost in the sensation. I don't come back to Earth - okay, okay, the moon, dammit - for a few minutes of aching bliss.
Eventually, through the haze of post-coital happiness, I realize that he's withdrawn himself from within me and is pulling me underneath the covers with him. He spoons against my back, engulfing me in a strong hug that would've made me giddy if I still had the fucking energy. No, what wasn't a pun or an attempt at humor. I smile a little, nestle myself against him, and go to sleep. Ah, sleep. What a welcoming vacation after such a...vigorous fuck session. Yeah, that's it!
The next morning, I awake with a shock of dread. I'm sure he'll have tossed me out in the night, or that he'll wake to order me away as soon as I get my clothes on. But his arms are still around me, his face buried in my loose hair, and he's breathing softly, fast asleep. Phew. Saved for the moment. I revel in the warmth and comfort for some indeterminate amount of time, moving only so that I can tangle my fingers in his hair, fanned out on the pillow and the sheets around me. I feel his head move and his eyelashes fluttering against my cheek before he opens his eyes and kisses my neck. "Wanna stay fer awhile?" he suggests, kissing his way to my earlobe and drawing it into his mouth.
Fuck, it's early - for me, at least - and already I have a morning hard-on like I ain't had since I was probably a dumbassed, hormonal fourteen-year-old. Fuck. "Mm-hmmm," I reply softly, arching into his touch.
"That can be arranged, then, hun." That's all he has to say. I know what he means the minute we do the whole routine of turning and looking in each other's eyes.
"You - you want me to stay?" I gape.
"Sure, why not?" He kisses me again, this time a light brush of his lips against my cheek. "'S long as ya tell me yer name, baby, yeh're welcome tah stay."
"Anything," I say, and I mean it.
Whoever said the year of '39 was the worst year of my life? I can tell it's turning out to be the best damn year I've ever had, and ever will have. Until maybe Aramis and I get married. You think?
Ten years ago, if you told me that in the year '39 - the worst year of my life to date - I'd be serving drinks to a bunch of miserable weapons factory workers on the moon, I'd've probably punched your teeth out or knocked your head into the corner of the bar. Yeah, I'm rowdy and violent like that. But that's not the point, see. Right now, I'm coming on thirty years old, and I've been running a bar on the moon for five years. It really sucks ass. You know, one day, I was young and carefree and all that shit that never stays once you're an adult. I thought I was gonna be the number one rock star ever, fucked up dreams like that and all. And look at me now. I'm not even pretty anymore. I used to be, before Earth was all but destroyed and they moved most of us up here. "Lunar colonies are safe," my ass. It's damn unhealthy up here.