Chemical Messenger Pt. 02

Maybe it's the breeze from the outside after the rain, maybe it's the metal stairs wobbling uneasily, maybe it's the not being surrounded by loud music and a crowd, but we don't talk for a while. We sit down on the landing, twenty feet up, trying to avoid sitting on rainwater. It must be two degrees cooler out here, though still hot for July. Bugs swarm the patio lights. The scattered groups below us take no notice; smoking, laughing, sharing secret mickeys of Smirnoff.

How weird is it to feel shy when five minutes ago you were all but fucking in public? One of us should say something. Maybe I just can't talk to people like a normal person. I take out a joint crammed into my jacket pocket, light it, and pass it to Iain.

"Thanks." He looks relieved to be doing something with his hands, and I watch the hollows under his cheekbones as he pulls smoke in. He turns his head from me, exhales, and gives the joint back. My head's swimming nicely.

"I had no idea you were the contact," Iain says finally.

I study the joint in my hand. "Were you surprised to see me?"

Iain laughs. I try not to stare at his even, white teeth. "You couldn't tell? You look fucking amazing."

The rainwater's really soaking our butts now. We get up, leaning against the outer wall, and Iain has to help me get up in this tight dress. He releases my hand and stares at the lights below. "Hey, I was a dick the first time we met. I want to apologize for that."

"And you apologize by grinding on me after a drug deal?" I smile, drawing in smoke.

He laughs nervously. "Yeah. I guess. Sorry."

I blow the smoke out. "I get it. You didn't expect me at your door that night. I think you were right to be paranoid." My lighter's still in my hand, so I pocket it. "And I definitely didn't expect someone like you."

He turns his head to me, looking me up and down, eyes softening, finally able to appreciate the view. "Your hair's shorter now," he says quietly.

"So is yours."

Iain reaches out and touches my face. I flick my eyes up and admire him, his forehead and cheeks painted with the multicoloured lights from the back patio. He looks up to my temple and smooths a sweat-soaked strand of hair away from my forehead, staring into my eyes as he tucks it behind my ear.

"Come here."

Iain takes my head in two hands, and my low-level fear of heights evaporates. I could stare into those eyes forever, but he closes them and leans into me. He presses my back into the warm brick wall and kisses me full on the mouth. Showers of sparks shimmer through us. I run my hands through his hair and open my mouth to him. I tease his teeth with my tongue, savouring the firm softness of his lips. He caresses the delicate angle of my jaw and draws me even closer to him, taking his time.

I arch my back toward him. My head bumps against the wall as he wraps his arms around my shoulders, pressing his body to mine. I feel the lean, warm, smooth muscles of his back, his arms, his waist. I can feel his erection growing again and it's making me weak. His stubble gently scrapes my lips, my nose, my chin. He moves to my neck and back to my lips again, sucking my lower lip, slowing down what feels like eight hundred per cent.

We release from the kiss without releasing from the embrace, drawing breath. I feel goosebumps on his forearms. He straightens up, still against me.

"I want to fuck you," I whisper into the hard knot of his Adam's apple.

Iain swallows hard. "Fuck. Yes." he says into my hair.

We release. I look around and make a quick decision. I know this bar. The fire escape door should open. It does.

The upper floor of the Lith hosts dance parties and Friday night overflow with its own tiny bar. I grab the hem of his tight T-shirt and we go inside. We avoid staying in the public room for long. I find the coveted dimly lit private washroom—the coke palace, really—at the end of the hall, and the minute we swing into it I turn the deadbolt lock shut. Iain pulls the chain on the ridiculous red Victorian lamp in the corner. Mood lighting. Thanks, Neolithiq.

It's my turn to press him to the wall. "I want to suck your cock," I say into his chest as we both fumble with his belt. He leans back beside the sink, looking at me with an urgency so delicious that I make a mental note to file this for later, enjoy it later.

I pull his jeans to his knees in the stifling heat, music thudding around us. I think he'd rather have them at his ankles but I want to constrain him a little bit, make him squirm before I accept his cock in my mouth. I pull down his boxer briefs and his cock springs out, balls tight against them. My mouth waters with anticipation. Fuck, he looks good. I missed that smooth upward curve, mapped with veins. I make eye contact with him as I tilt my head and part my lips—not touching his cock yet, just teasing—making sure he feels my breath on his cock. Precum starts to bead at the tip.

I lick my lips. Then I start to lick the sides of his cock with the tip of my tongue, up and down one side and then the other, exploring the length. All other parts licked, I make it to the spot where the head meets the shaft and lap gently, precisely, slackening my tongue to make its softness contrast his hardness. Iain tilts his head back at this unexpected contact and moans. His precum spills out into my mouth and I savour its slippery sweetness, licking my lips at the same time as they move around his cock head, spreading it around, glazing it as I worship the most sensitive part of his cock.

He needs to go deep into my mouth. Right now.

I reposition myself, my dress straining against my thighs, take a deep breath, and exhale as I slide his cock into my mouth and down my throat in one smooth go. Iain nearly stumbles as my nose meets his pubic hair and my forehead touches his taut belly. I gag slightly and my mouth fills with saliva. I can actually feel his cock twitching at the back of my throat. I can't breathe and I don't want him to come just yet, so I pull back, my lips the only thing touching his shaft as he exits my mouth wetly. I look up and Iain's face is a mask of pleasure and agony, his brows furrowed, body completely tense. A thread of spit and precum still connects his cock to my mouth. I smile.

He's panting as he stares down at me, his head silhouetted by the light. "I need to fuck you. I need to bend you over and fuck your pussy right now."

"My mouth's not done with you yet," I say thickly. Without giving him time to react, I lick my lips and plunge his cock into my mouth again, my hands gripping the backs of his thighs. His hands grasp the back of my head and his hips start to find a rhythm. I time my breaths to it, letting him pump my face, going halfway down and then all the way down and then halfway again, his balls slapping my drooling chin. He pulls out just long enough that I can swirl my tongue over the head and take a breath before he slides back in. The sucking sounds get louder. I can feel my cunt getting wet again but I don't dare reach down to touch myself, lest I break the hypnotic rhythm of his cock fucking my mouth.

"Oh fuck. Oh fuck," I hear from above. He's close. I'm wet. This needs to happen. I pull his cock out of my mouth and he just about doubles over. I stand, my legs buckling slightly from squatting so long, and before I can adjust Iain grabs me roughly by the shoulders and slams me against the door. I want to shout from excitement. The party's still going on upstairs here; I can't believe no one's knocked on the door yet. All I hear is the bass beat and the blood pounding in my ears.

"I've been wanting to do this ever since I first laid eyes on you tonight," Iain says, and zips open my dress from the back. He's naked from the waist down, cock throbbing, teeth at my neck. He helps me step out of the dress and I have just enough time to hang it on the peg by the door before he presses me flat against it again.

He takes his cock in one hand and slaps it against my pussy, making the most thrilling wet slippery sounds that I start to moan in anticipation. I want him to fuck me. But instead he pushes two strong fingers into my dripping cunt and steers me toward the sink and mirror, as I'm impaled on his fingers, and he bends me over.

"I want you to look at me when we fuck," he says. "I want to see you come."

I have a vague recollection of doing lines of coke in this room last winter, in roughly the same position, but Iain is a whole other kind of upper. He takes his fingers out of my cunt, crosses his arms, and takes off his shirt. We're both sweating and I feel the sweat of his chest on my naked back. His cock touches my swollen cunt lips, kissing them with arousal. I hope this sink is strong enough.

"Fuck me, Iain, just fuck me."

He runs his cock along the slit, in between my inner labia, almost there, and without breaking our gaze in the mirror, he takes his cock and slams it into my cunt. We both cry out as he pushes into me; it's finally happening, I feel so tight, he feels stone fucking hard, and then he grabs me by the hips and starts to fuck me, slamming me into the sink. Over and over and over. Weed, alcohol and lust coursing through us, we don't break eye contact as he arches my flexible spine as far as it can go. I feel every inch of him going in and out of me, stuffing me. His hands mash my breasts as I grab the corners of the porcelain sink, his cock pistoning in and out of my cunt, those hazel eyes I was once so afraid to confront pinning me in place.

Then I push my ass up, my boots lifting from the ground, putting my full weight on the pedestal sink as my forehead almost hits the mirror. Iain's own boots grip the floor as he slams into me fully, making me cry out, then brings his cock out halfway and reaches around to my clit. I clench my pussy even tighter and gasp. He's remembered how to touch me, stroking the hood like a little foreskin around the head of my clit. His cock doesn't stay still for long and he makes tiny little thrusts, enough for him to enjoy me without distracting from the main show at my clit. It feels incredible to get fucked by a man who knows what he's doing. He rubs my clit in tight little circles, encouraging me with his eyes, never letting go. I look at our faces in the mirror, shining with sweat in the dim light. I've never felt more beautiful. I've never seen a man more beautiful. My cunt exists for this. It exists for that cock.

"Do you want me to come," I ask, but it doesn't sound like a question. It sounds like an utterance from my cunt that comes through my throat, bypassing my brain entirely. I'm rapidly reaching the point of no return. I can't believe this his happening so fast. My hips buck against him.

"Come on my dick. Do it. Do it." Iain's dark eyebrows draw together. He rubs my clit a fraction faster as he fucks me, just enough to send me careening into orgasm.

"Iain, fuck, I-" but I don't finish the sentence. My words turn into a howl as finally break eye contact and my cunt spasms onto his cock. He releases my clit and holds me down as I shudder and clench onto him, soaking his balls and groin, and he shouts into the nape of my neck while covering my mouth and fucks me really hard, impaling me over and over, crashing my head into the mirror. He grabs my waist, eyes closed, saying "I'm close, I'm close, I'm close" and in a final effort to blow his mind I make sure to squeeze my vagina as hard as I can, one last time, before all his muscles contract at once. Iain throws his head back and explodes inside me, an agonizing shudder running through his whole lean body, sweat flying, he explodes again, my cunt and clit and his cock and mouth savouring wave after wave after wave until his cock's pumping uselessly and there's nothing left.

We lay still on the sink, utterly spent, enjoying our fading orgasms. Neither of us open our eyes for a while. Iain's cock is still in my cunt. Outside things—the music, the shouting, the smell of stale beer—gradually return. All I can feel is our breathing. Iain's still over me, his chest expanding and falling. Our hands find each other's on the sink, intertwining fingers, and it feels so curiously, thrillingly intimate after the ravaging we just put each other through.

I don't want to move but I'm exhausted. After what seems like forever I slide down off the sink and Iain slides out of me, his fresh cum sliding down my leg. His jeans still round his ankles, he reaches over and hands me the last half-roll of toilet paper, tearing off some for himself. I run a wad of it under the cold faucet and press it to my pussy, signing in relief. Iain laughs.

I look over to the man who's fucked me so throughly that I still haven't regained feeling in the tips of my toes. He's flushed, leaning against the wall as he pulls his jeans up. Naked apart from my boots, I reach over and tousle his hair. Sweat flies off.

"Kate," he says, taking my hand from his hair. I think he's going to say something more, but doesn't. Conscious of our mutual stickiness, he kisses me without embracing, just leaning in enough to touch my mouth with his. I grab my dress and step into it. Am I falling for this guy? I think I'm in danger of doing just that. This isn't good. This is not good.

Suddenly someone bangs on the door, jolting us back to the inconvenient existence of the rest of the world. Iain finds his shirt in an unflossed corner of the room and pulls it on. Both fully clothed now, grinning, I unlock the deadbolt and Iain opens the door.

To my utter surprise, it's Mark. He looks highly bemused at the two of us and waves the air with one hand. "Jesus, it smells RIPE in here."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Mark," Iain says.

"Well never mind that," says Mark. He waggles a tiny bag filled with white powder at us. "Care to finish this with me before the next set starts?"

"Step into my office," I say, grinning. This night keeps getting better and better. Iain closes the door.