tagGay MaleAgape Ch. 05

Agape Ch. 05


Dusty released the knots holding Dmitri's arms in place before he leaned over to brush the boy's lips with his own.

"Mine," he whispered.

Dmitri nodded, his eyes shining.

Dusty felt his way through the near-dark, finding the bathroom after a bit of trial and error groping. Once there, he unrolled the condom from his softening cock, tied a knot in its end and dropped it into the waste bin. He looked at his reflection in the mirror.

I look like hell.

He sat down to urinate, not trusting his ability to aim properly with a partial erection. Once he'd finished with the toilet and flushed his watery piss away, he turned on the sink's tap. The water was cool and felt divine against his sweat-soaked skin; he washed his hands, then his face, before filling a glass he found on a shelf next to the sink. He drank the water greedily, filled the glass a second time and turned off the light.

Finding his way back to the bedroom was easier, made so by the candlelight flickering against the walls within. Dmitri looked to have stayed exactly where he had been when Dusty left. Upon his re-entry to the room, Dmitri glanced up.

"You found the bathroom. Yes?"

"I had to, eventually. The apartment isn't that big." Dusty's grin reached out to crease the corners of his eyes. "Water?"

"Thank you." Dmitri brought himself upright before accepting the glass held out to him. While he drank the cool liquid, Dusty wiped the beads of sweat from the boy's forehead.

"What now?" Dusty chuckled self-consciously.

"You had a question for me. But first, I must use the toilet. If that is okay with you."

"Of course, handsome. Take your time. I'm not going anywhere."

* * *

Dmitri made his way through the dark rooms of his home with ease. He turned on the shower and let the water warm up while he used the toilet, then climbed into the tub and under the spray to wash away the remnants of his orgasm. He was gone less than ten minutes, but he returned to the bedroom to find Dusty snoring softly. He sat on the edge of the bed, watching the rise and fall of the other man's chest.

He reached out finally, tracing the curve of a rib with the lightest touch. Even that was enough to stir Dusty, who rolled onto his side and motioned for Dmitri to join him. The younger man slid up in front of Dusty, pressing his ass gently back against the warmth of his lover's crotch.

"What did you want to ask me?"

"Why did you choose me? From all the men at the bar tonight, why pick me?" Dusty asked nervously, sheepishly. "You could have had any man – or woman – there, and I think you know that."

"I did not choose you," Dmitri whispered, "You claimed me the moment our eyes first met. There was only the matter of bringing you here so that you could properly make me yours."

Dusty blinked back tears, not for the first time that evening, and tightened his arms about the younger man whose bed he shared.

"You're crazy, honey," Dusty breathed, warming his little god's shoulder.

"Yes. For you. For your gentleness, and your obvious kindness, the way you wear your heart for all to see, like I told you earlier. I meant that, just as I meant it when I told you that I cannot and will never lie to you."

The evening had certainly taken an interesting turn. Dusty hadn't expected to see where the young man lived; he had not even thought he would be given the boy's name, never mind his trust, his sweet submission, his burning desire. For a few minutes, Dusty had no idea what to say in response. So he laid quietly, wrapped around Dmitri, planting occasional kisses on the back of the boy's neck. Then he inhaled sharply, let out the breath slowly and began to speak in an unrehearsed flood of emotion.

"I don't know whether you understand how great this gift you've given me is, darlin' – or how gratefully I have accepted it. And I know that we just met, that it's going to take some time for the two of us to really get to know each other. But, for whatever it's worth, I will be here as long as you'll have me. I want to know every part of you, hear all of your stories, and love you the best I can." He paused to catch his breath. "And I sure hope that I'm not frightening you off already."

"Ha!" Dmitri laughed, "You'll have to try harder than that. Much harder!" He punctuated his last statement by rubbing his ass playfully against Dusty's crotch.

"Be careful, boy... Unless you'd rather play than rest at all tonight."

Dmitri teased back, and in fact, neither man got any rest that evening. They sat up talking all through the wee hours of the morning, learning from, delighting in and empathising with one another's stories of life – tales of joy and laughter, of hardships that children encounter when growing up poor, of loves found and lost again. Dusty's initial determination of Dmitri's age was almost exactly correct; he'd mused that the boy must be fifteen years his junior. Dmitri was twenty-three to Dusty's thirty-nine. He had grown up in Greece, raised by his grandfather after his parents had gone on a trip for their belated honeymoon and his father had returned alone. His mother had been swept off to sea during a terrible storm, and his father had responded by becoming a full-time drunk. Eventually, the man had ruined his liver, become jaundiced and then died while his own father and son looked on. Having had and lost the love of his life, Dmitri's father had given up his will to go on and chosen to commit slow suicide.

The boy had, of course, grieved with his father over the loss of his mother. And then he had mourned his father's death with his grandfather. Eventually, the two found their pace together and life continued on. Dmitri had a playmate when he was young, another boy from his own village. The two had grown up together, taken girlfriends out on Dmitri's grandfather's boat where they exchanged chaste kisses and the gifts of paupers, things like bits of fruit and pickled fish nicked from the stands when their owners weren't looking. After some time, there was a night when the boys were stood up by a pair of sisters. They'd brought baubles to bribe the girls for kisses and even managed to swipe a small bottle of ouzo from Dmitri's grandfather. When their dates were late and then clearly had no intent to show up, the young men made the best of the situation. They got drunk on a pint of ouzo and surprised themselves by embracing one another – at first in brotherly comfort and then in consolation of another sort. They had fallen asleep on the boat and were found by Dmitri's worried grandfather the next morning. They lay tangled in one another's arms, reeking of strong alcohol, until the old man awoke them with a holler.

Dmitri's grandfather was, of course, furious. That was his nature. It was also characteristic that, although he was disappointed and a bit disgusted by Dmitri's actions, he never spoke of them again. Dmitri continued to live under the old man's roof for several years, taking employment where he could and saving money until he had enough to move out on his own. His grandfather had been shocked when Dmitri announced that he was going to move to America; first the boy had shown his lack of interest in girls and all but damned the old man's bloodline to obscurity, and then he had decided to leave the fellow all by himself.

As it turned out, in the case of Dmitri's grandfather, distance really did make the heart grow fonder. So far away from the young man he had raised nearly by himself, he missed him terribly. He frequently sent bottles of ouzo, packets of the strange brown cigarettes of which Dmitri was so fond, and various little treats that were difficult and expensive to acquire so far from his homeland. He wrote long letters in a cramped scrawl, urging Dmitri to return home and see what fine young women some of the girlfriends from his teenaged years had become. Neither man ever mentioned the boy from the boat – nor did they discuss any of the other male friends Dmitri had once spent so much time with.

* * *

"Damn, honey. That's one hell of a story. How old were you when you left Greece?"

"Twenty-one, just two years ago."

"Did you come straight to Boston?"

"No," he replied, then changed the subject. "The sun will rise soon. Would you like coffee?"

"Very much so. And then I'd love to hear the rest of your story," he said gently, sensing that there was something in the boy's recent past that he felt shameful.

Dmitri nodded resignedly, then disentangled himself from Dusty's embrace and found his way to the kitchen. Dusty followed and perched on the edge of a chair while his host brewed a pot of strong, dark coffee. They made small talk while the younger man bustled about the kitchen, readying cups and saucers, spoons and honey. He paused to ask whether Dusty required milk; he didn't, so they both took the rich liquid sweetened and dark. Trying to buy himself time, Dmitri suggested that they dress and bring their coffee out on the apartment's small balcony. He also offered his guest breakfast.

"I don't know why you're stalling, kiddo," Dusty murmured, "But I promise you that nothing will make me think less of you. We all have pasts, and most of them include things that we're not so proud of."

"We will see," replied Dmitri.

Breakfast could wait; both men dressed in hurried silence and then Dmitri led Dusty by the hand, out onto the glorified fire escape. They settled down at the tiny café table there with their big mugs of honeyed coffee. Dmitri continued his tale.

* * *

Dmitri had flown from Crete to New York City. Having grown up in a small village, the hubbub of the city was overwhelming. Of course he knew no one there, so he made an easy target and was far too naïve to recognise that fact even when it was inevitably thrown back in his face. He'd only been wandering around the city, awe-struck, for a few hours when the first vulture swooped in to tear off a piece of him.

He was shocked when another young man from Crete approached him in the street, speaking his own language. He welcomed the hospitality offered by this new friend and they drank a great deal of liquor that night. Dmitri thought the ouzo that they drank had an odd appearance but did not want to insult the fellow's kindness. So he matched each glass the other man drank. Eventually he was shitfaced drunk and then some.

That boy's name was Damian, which means 'sweet and harmless.' Dmitri soon discovered that he was anything but. Damian took Dmitri that first night, at first plying him with the booze and sweet kisses. When he had been disarmed by the fellow's pretend charms, Dmitri was then taken by force. He was fucked brutally and his wallet emptied once he had wept himself to sleep. This was far from how he had envisioned the beginning of his new life.

When Dmitri had woken the next morning, Damian introduced him to Matthias. True to the meaning given to his name, Matthias truly believed that he was God's gift to all those around him. He took what he liked and expected everyone around him to smile as he twisted his knife in their backs. Most did this without complaint, he was that persuasive. Dmitri quickly began to see clearly through his fading naiveté and knew that, no matter what else happened, he would never allow himself to trust the man.

So it was that Dmitri grew up rather abruptly, if at a late age. He told Matthias what he wanted to hear, did what he was told and affected a manner that was utterly submissive to any man or woman sent his way. His acting skills were superb and he still had Matthias' complete trust. Where he was initially a common, bullied whore, he rose in the ranks of Matthias' boys until he was one of the most sought-after companions. He received trinkets from his clients, which he hoarded and later pawned once he'd made some sympathetic friends.

The day arrived when Dmitri tricked the trickster. He'd refrained from spending all of his money on booze and drugs like the rest of Matthias' boys, although he still made a show of the things he did spend his money on, as if they were more expensive than they actually were. He put on such a convincing show that no one ever doubted the stories he told about his extravagances.

One day, six months after Matthias had first found the boy via Damian, Dmitri turned up missing. He'd had a date with one of his regular callers, but he had not shown. Matthias figured that the young man had wandered off and gotten drunk in some gutter; in actuality, he had purchased a bus ticket to Boston and made it to his new home before anyone even worried that he had absconded. No one knew of the money he'd scraped together to start over once again.

* * *

Dusty held Dmitri's hand across the table. He had watched the boy's face the entire time he spoke, his own face creased with concern.

"How horrible those months must have been for you," Dusty whispered in awe.

"It was my own fault. I was so very young and stupid. I needed to grow up. The fates made sure that I did."

"No, honey, it's not your fault that you were innocent and sweet-natured. That's a lovely way to be, if impractical at times. It's not your fault that those sharks fed on your goodness." He caressed Dmitri's palm with his thumb.

"You are not upset?"

"Of course I am, honey. I'm outraged that you had to suffer and lose your innocence in such an awful manner. I'm pissed off at the animals that did such things to you. But, as I said, it wasn't your fault. If you're waiting for me to be upset with you, prepare to continue waiting. It's not gonna happen."

"Do you truly mean that?"

"Of course I do, kiddo. And I appreciate the strength it takes to be so honest when you're afraid of being dismissed. You want to be chastised, you'll have to find some other fool to provide that."

"You are no fool, Dusty."

"If you say so, hon." He smiled thinly at the boy. "Please tell me that Boston was more hospitable to you."

Boston had indeed been more welcoming to Dmitri. He had gone into the first decent-looking rooming house he found and rented a small room from a woman who wore a cross on a chain about her neck. She smelled of cats and cigars and had a stern but fair manner. Her name was Martha, and she informed Dmitri that he would have to pay first and last weeks' rent up front. He found that he had enough money for the first month, so he paid that much in advance. Martha appreciated responsibility in a young man, so she was kind to him. The bathroom was out in the hallway; two toilet stalls and one shower per floor of six rooms. Dmitri wasn't planning on being home much, so this was of little consequence to him.

Dmitri took his newfound acting skills and turned his charm on everyone he met. It wasn't long before he found himself a sweet old sugar daddy who would pay the rent on his little room. Martha, getting on in years herself, also had him help with chores around the house in exchange for rent. The extra, Dmitri saved. His only indulgences came in the packages from his grandfather for a while. Life wasn't easy, but he was living it in his own way and he figured that had to count for something. Of course he lied to his grandfather, telling the old man that he had found employment as a dock worker.

After a few months of tricking where he could, spending time with his sugar daddy, acting as handyman around the boarding house and composing many long letters home, Dmitri found a surprise in the mail. His grandfather had never been one for extravagances, living comfortably but simply. Dmitri never would have guessed that his grandfather had amassed a tidy sum of money, which he intended to share with the boy now that he had gone out on his own and become a responsible young man in the old coot's eyes.

Taken aback, Dmitri did not reply immediately. When he did, it was to tell his grandfather that he could not take the money. He had done nothing to deserve it and did not want it.

The old man sent a rather large check anyway, and that is how Dmitri had been able to make the deposit and pay the other required fees on the apartment that was his current home.

* * *

"Do you still...?" Dusty began to ask, curious but not judging.

"Sometimes. It depends on the men." Dmitri smiled sadly. "When it is me or some other boy, I am not too proud to take the gifts and money that mean so little to them. I actually have a real job now, however." The sharp bark of his laughter startled Dusty. "I arrange for people in America to buy my grandfather's ouzo. In exchange, I receive a salary and all of the ouzo I care to drink."

Dusty eyed his companion, unsure of what to say next. Dmitri took up the slack for him.

"I thought at first that you were one of those men who just wanted to fuck, to come and stuff some money in my pocket before leaving without a kiss or a goodbye. That is how most of them work. But I saw something different when your eyes found mine in the bar. I knew you were a different kind of lonely, hungry for real friendship and not just a warm body." Dmitri stopped and looked down at the hand that still held his. His eyes traced the curves of the fingers, the arm, and the shoulder they were attached to. And, at long last, his eyes found Dusty's. Those ice blue eyes stared, not challenging, only exploring. Dusty's gaze responded to his lover's and they shared a comfortable silence for a little while.

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