Obviously as caught up as Paul was, Danny fisted Paul’s hair tighter and thrust against him, all his weight resting on one open palm.
The slide of Danny’s cock against his, mixing with the intimacy and deviance of the act, had Paul gasping out loud. “Fuck.” He licked his lips, fighting for breath and the strength to hold off a little longer. “I can’t—”
“Then don’t,” Danny panted, hips thrusting demandingly, forcing the pace of Paul’s tight-fisted stroking of their cocks. “Come for me, Paul Guy. I wanna watch you do it.”
That was all it took. Paul couldn’t help but cry out when the climax slammed into him. The pleasure was blinding, his entire body shuddering from the force of it. The slide of two hard cocks against his palm became slick as cum pulsed past his fingers. The bliss held him suspended in a place only Danny could take him, but Paul’s strokes finally became lazy when the rush started to subside. The throb settled to a low hum of contentment that had Paul’s body falling lax as he reveled in the aftermath.
“I’m not there yet,” Danny reminded him, his voice husky as Paul picked up the pace, now focusing solely on him. Danny leaned down until his forehead rested against Paul’s. “Mmm, faster. Don’t do it like a chick.”
Paul gave a breathless laugh, stroking him faster, savoring the moment, trying to take in every second. He fought to open his eyes, seeing the pleasure on Danny’s beautiful face. The battle was worth it. The level of Paul’s enthusiasm had Danny’s entire body tensing. He came in Paul’s hand with a low groan and Paul savored the pleasure that etched itself over Danny’s features, feeling a surge of pride knowing he was the one to give that to him.
They were sweaty in the aftermath and more than a little sticky as Danny collapsed over Paul, breathing into the curve of his neck. “That was good.”
“Thanks.” Paul pulled his hand out from between their bodies, knowing he and Danny were in desperate need of a shower, or at least a towel, but all he said as he nudged Danny’s shoulder until he lifted his head to look at him curiously was, “You wanna fuck me?”
Danny’s eyebrows rose and he didn’t even hesitate before he said, “Sure.”
* * * * *
Paul looked like an angel when he slept.
Danny had always thought so, but now more than ever, as he lay sprawled naked on his stomach over Danny’s mattress. Paul’s face was turned toward him and Danny sat on the floor smoking a cigarette, feeling like a heartsick fool as he studied him.
He resisted the urge to reach out and touch him, to run his fingers over his face, to memorize his features the way they looked right then, sated from too much sex. He radiated a strange sort of peacefulness that was odd for anyone, but especially from a man like Paul, who endured so much and whose life was anything but peaceful.
Taking advantage of something that clearly made Paul extremely vulnerable, more so indulging in things Danny didn’t want to admit he enjoyed, was tearing him up inside because he knew Paul was right. He
could
be the man he wanted, could hurt him and probably get off on it—and that was what he was hiding from.
He didn’t want to be that person. He certainly didn’t want to turn into one willing to damage something so ethereally gorgeous just to hold Paul close. Danny had wanted him for as long as he could remember, had watched from a distance and hoped and prayed for a chance at tasting the divine. Now here Paul was, naked and sated in Danny’s bed, and the only thought he had about it was that God had to be a twisted bastard.
Danny’s face scrunched up in agony, because he knew he was going to have to push Paul away. Even if he could be the man he wanted, he didn’t want to be.
He refused to hurt the person he loved. He was not going to look in the mirror and see the regret he knew so well from his father’s face when the morning brought the gift of coherent thinking. Just because Danny was addicted to Paul instead of booze,didn’t make it okay.
He couldn’t be his father. Even for Paul.
He put out his cigarette, and then reached over, stroking the curve of Paul’s jaw, his thumb brushing against Paul’s cheek until brilliant-blue eyes blinked at him.
A slow, lazy smile curved at Paul’s full lips. “What’s up?”
“We gotta talk,” Danny said with a wince, feeling the sting of tears as Paul became fuzzy around the edges.
Paul studied him, the haziness of sleep leaving his gaze. Danny could see the recognition flash over his beautiful features. Paul rolled onto his back, rubbing a hand over his face, completely heedless of being naked in a way Danny found extremely appealing.
“I really don’t wanna have this talk,” Paul finally whispered into the semi-darkness of the room before he turned back to Danny, giving him a soft look and a seductive smile. “Can’t we do something else?”
Danny sighed, everything in him wanting to agree, but he shook his head sadly. “No, you can’t keep distracting me. That’s not cool.”
Paul rolled his eyes, staring at the ceiling of Danny’s bedroom. “What? You wanna talk about our
feelings
?”
“Sorta, yeah,” Danny said, ignoring the sharp edge to Paul’s voice, knowing he was hiding from reality by channeling his father. “You know this isn’t healthy. Wanting me to hurt you? That’s not normal.”
“Oh my God.” Paul jumped to his feet with a strange agility for a man his size. He walked naked into the living room, careless of Danny following him as he searched for his clothes strewn over the floor.
“Have you ever considered therapy?” Danny asked, watching Paul pull on his underwear and jeans in sharp, jerky motions. “Your childhood obviously did this to you. There’s got to be a better way to cope with it. I could help you.”
“If you’re so into therapy, you go for it, Danny Boy.” Paul searched in his pocket, pulling out Danny’s car keys instead of his own. He looked down at the keychain as if only then remembering his truck was back at Arty’s. “Shit.”
“You’re not going anywhere until we talk about this.”
Paul groaned, looking to the ceiling once more. “Look, my childhood sucked. I can’t argue that. But I promise you, I don’t need therapy. I’m fine.”
Danny shook his head. “You’re not fine, Paul Guy. I don’t think you’re fine at all. I think you have some serious issues.”
“I know I’m different, okay?” Paul gave Danny an imploring look, making it obvious this was the last conversation he wanted to have. “But it’s who I am and some people like me being different. I thought you were one of those people, but maybe you’re not and it’s cool. Just please don’t preach at me about it.”
“I like you for who you are,” Danny said, panicking over being misunderstood.
“Then why are you giving me shit about it?” Paul snapped. “I’m not judging you for liking guys. I don’t give a fuck if you’re bi. You could have told me a long time ago. I would have been cool with it.”
“Well, duh,” Danny said with a barking laugh. “You’ve obviously got tendencies.”
Paul pulled back. “I don’t have tendencies.”
“You’re joking, right?” Danny stared at Paul in shock. “I’ve been fucking you for two days and you haven’t exactly been complaining about it.”
“So what?” Paul asked, his laugh mirthless. “You think we’re boyfriends now?”
“Well, no,” Danny whispered, feeling as if he’d been kicked in the solar plexus because that’s exactly what he wanted to think. “I just—”
“I can’t be your boyfriend, Danny Boy,” Paul said, his voice losing some of its fierceness. “Is that what you want from me?”
Danny shook his head silently, looking away when he felt tears threatening. “Don’t be stupid.”
“You know I get off on humiliation, right?” Paul asked softly, as if terrified of hurting Danny. “You get that, don’t you? What that means? Why it was fun to be with a guy? I mean, it wasn’t just that, it was fun for lots of reasons. You’ve got so much potential to be an amazing Dom—”
“I don’t want to be a Dom.” Danny cut him off, the pain making him feel as if he might collapse under it. The horror of the situation, of knowing the only reason Paul enjoyed being with him was because it was humiliating, made Danny want to lash out from the agony it was causing him. “I’m not gonna play your freak games with you. You were weak, I took advantage of you and now I’m sick of you. That’s it.”
Paul studied him, his eyes running over Danny for one long moment before he finally whispered, “Okay.”
“It’s over,” Danny said, wanting to get his point across. “I’m never fucking you again. It wasn’t even that great.”
“Okay,” Paul repeated. “I shouldn’t have expected you to be someone you’re not comfortable being. I’m sorry.”
Danny huffed, finding that fighting with a man who got off on cruelty was probably the most frustrating thing he had ever encountered. There was no way to win against someone you couldn’t hurt.
“Just get out,” Danny said, realizing too late he was being someone much worse than his father by throwing Paul out when he couldn’t hurt him. Paul had turned him into
his
father. “I think I hate you.”
Paul pulled back, considering that as he bit his lip, a look of anxiety finally crossing his face. “Are you serious?”
“Yes,” Danny said, his voice sharp and biting even to his ears. “This isn’t a game, Paul Guy. I want you to get the fuck out of my house and I don’t want you to come back.”
Paul nodded, his voice soft as he said, “Okay.”
He picked up the rest of his things, throwing his bag over his shoulder and stuffing his shirt in his back pocket. Then he walked up to Danny and handed him his car keys. Danny took them mutely, staring at the Mercedes emblem on his keychain as Paul walked out the door wearing only jeans and sneakers. When the door clicked shut, he looked at the wood, expecting him to come back. The nearest bus stop was at least five miles away and Paul knew it. He’d have to come back and he’d have to tell Danny it was more than humiliation that brought them together.
But Paul never did come back.
Danny didn’t know how long he stood there in muted horror before the reality of the situation finally set in. He hadn’t just lost one of the loves of his life. He’d lost his best friend.
Chapter Five
Wearing only a pair of jeans, Danny sat by the front door straightening a beer bottle. He turned the label outward on touch alone as he stared ahead unseeing. This was what he was destined to be, a heartbroken shell of a man living in a hollowed-out home, lining up bottles.
Against his will he looked to the bottles in question, seeing the long, straight line of perfectly aligned bottles stretch from the front door clear to the master bedroom. He had extended them into his bathroom, but was officially out of room as he placed the last one near the front door.
How many bottles would it take to cover the full expanse of the house?
More importantly, how many bottles would it take to make him forget Paul and the look on his face as he’d walked out the door? Danny didn’t give a shit if Paul was submissive enough to get off on being a sexual slave, couldn’t care less that he wore leather and handcuffs on the weekends. If it made him happy, whatever. Danny just wanted his friend back.
True, the sting to his pride over knowing Paul saw their connection as a very sexy form of humiliation was vivid, but in retrospect that wasn’t enough to make Danny hate him. Paul had been honest. There was never a point when he hadn’t made his preferences clear. Danny could admit to himself that he took advantage of Paul and his unique tastes to get what he wanted and then gotten pissed when reality came back to slap him in the face.
He searched in vain for the strength to ask for forgiveness and beg Paul to come back, to rid himself of pride that was his enemy more often than not. Two days of bliss was more than he ever expected to get from Paul. He could find a way to be happy about it if they somehow repaired their friendship. But Paul hadn’t called and Danny was left sitting on the floor heartsick, lining up bottles and desperately hunting for a way to hide from the pain that was crushing the air out of his chest.
The first week after Paul walked out his door, Danny drowned his sorrows in the affections of sorority girls whose requirements for a sexual partner were minimal. All he really had to do was manage to get it up and then lie there looking hot.
Men were off the menu, perhaps permanently, because when he thought cock, he thought about Paul, and that was counterproductive to say the least. By the second week he had figured out sex with shallow college girls didn’t ease the pain; if anything it made it worse.
He gave up meaningless sex for a self-medication technique that hit much closer to home. Danny started drinking heavily, bending his no-cock rule by making a phone call to one of his older, richer lovers, and giving one unenthusiastic blowjob in exchange for a truly impressive amount of beer and liquor. He might as well have saved himself the effort. The only thing the booze cured was a nagging insecurity that haunted him every time he took a drink. Danny discovered he was officially free from the curse of his father. He would never be an alcoholic because five days spent sick to his stomach, with a headache throbbing at his temples, was enough to cure him of that affliction forever.
Deciding to go with vices he was good at, Danny spent the past two days chain-smoking and lining up beer bottles. Who the fuck was he to give Paul shit about therapy? Danny wasn’t so heartsick he didn’t see the crazy in spending forty-eight hours arranging beer bottles.
His mother was right. He probably needed to go back on the medicine the doctor had prescribed him for this particular problem. She had left it on the kitchen table along with some Spanish bean soup, Cuban bread and a desperate pleading with Danny to get out of the house. He felt bad that she’d had to ask one of her friends to drive her out to his house to begin with. She must have been really concerned to ask for a ride when usually she relied on Danny or his father to drive her places. Hating to see her upset, he promised to take her to Ybor City for shopping and dinner.
Remembering that only now, he looked at his watch, frowning at the time and seeing he had flat-out lied to his mama. Eleven made it too late to do anything. The guilt overwhelmed him. For the first time in two weeks, he felt something past the dazed agony losing Paul had caused.