Of The Deepest DyebyVictoria Veiss©
"Did anyone follow us here?"
Peter looked over his shoulder, face sweating. "No."
The lobby door closed behind them, shutting out the steamy air from the parking lot. "Thank goodness for air conditioning." Peter mopped his face with a handkerchief he took from the breast pocket of his rumpled suit. The beaded moisture soaked into the cloth and left only a greasy sheen on his round cheeks and ample chin. His small mustache had a wilted look.
His companion dropped his leather duffel, took off the sweat-stained bandanna that restrained his long dark hair and stuffed it in the back pocket of his black jeans. Standing a head and a half taller than Peter, he carried very little fat on his heavy-boned frame. Sunglasses covered his eyes. A glimpse of sharp teeth showed in the parting of his full lips and his expression had a hard and haunted look, but his mouth was as fresh and tender as a boy's.
"Are you sure this is where you want to stay, Raptor?" Peter's voice sounded querulous, on the edge of complaint. He sidled away from a stain on the rug and polished one shoe on the back of the other pant leg. "It doesn't look all that nice. You're going to need a good night's sleep after your match, and the beds may not be comfortable. We don't even have reservations."
Raptor leaned over the desk to ring the bell. "It'll do. I ain't driving any farther from the arena just to find a place where the freaks won't track us down." The clerk came out and stared at him. He straightened up and folded his thick tattooed arms. "You got two singles?"
"Uh..." The clerk glanced at the computer screen. "Do you have reservations?"
"No. That's why I asked." He frowned, the expression emphasized by his dark goatee, and spoke in a slight Southern drawl. "If we had reservations, I'd expect there to be two singles all made up and waiting. Or else I'd know the reason why."
The clerk examined Raptor's dense tattoos, mouth slightly open. "Uh...right. You look kind of familiar. Are you a wrestler on TV or something?"
"No, I make a profession out of stuffing things up hotel clerk's butts." Raptor brandished the pen from the hotel register. "Rooms? Two singles?"
"Now, now," said Peter, closing his eyes and standing directly under the blast of the ventilation. "I know the adoring fans at the airport and our first hotel irritated you, but the poor man is only doing his job." He pulled his collar out with one stubby finger to admit a breath of cool air.
"Adoring fans, my ass. Freaks." Raptor removed his sunglasses and hung them from the neck of his sleeveless T-shirt. "Fucking little freaks."
The clerk's eyes shuttled from the tall man to the fat man. "I don't have two singles. I have a double."
"Fine, a double." Raptor slapped down a credit card. "We always used to share anyway."
"It's been a while since we did that." Peter murmured and adjusted his tie. Their eyes met. Raptor lowered his gaze for a moment and then glanced at Peter without raising his head.
"Yeah, it has." Green glinted through the veil of his dark lashes, emphasizing their elusive undertone of red.
At that moment, the air conditioner's fan gave out a loud, clunking groan, wheezed, and stopped. The hotel Muzak faded; the lights flickered and went out. The sun still shone through the glass doors, but the lobby was dim and silent.
"Oh, fuck," said Peter.
"My computer's down," said the clerk. "The screen's all dark!"
"Blackouts do that, moron," growled Raptor.
Peter moaned. "What do we do now? I'm going to perish in this heat without air conditioning. I hate hot weather."
"I'm not real fond of it myself."
"Maybe the power will come back on?"
Someone came out of a back room with a flashlight and shone it around the lobby. "Hey. This is going to last a while, I think."
"What happened?" asked the clerk.
"Radio said that there was a big transformer blowout from the heat and the heavy load. Everyone's got AC and fans on in this weather...or they did until a minute ago. Most of the city is dark, I guess."
"Then there's not much point in looking for a different hotel," said Peter. "I'm afraid to drive if all the traffic lights are out."
"And the arena will be blacked out, too, which cancels the show. So we're stuck in this shithole for no reason at all!" Raptor kicked his bag, and Peter's for good measure.
"Perhaps the power will turn on in time for the TV taping." Peter looked hopeful, but mopped his brow again. The lobby was already growing warm. "Oh, this is terribly inconvenient. Perhaps I'll take a cool bath in our room. I can try to get comfortable, at least."
"But I can't register you. My computer's down."
"Listen, moron." Raptor leaned over the counter and came nose to nose with the clerk. "Write it down on a piece of paper or something. Imprint the card and I'll sign it. Got the picture?"
"Uh...OK." The clerk ducked down to look for a pad of paper.
When the improvised registration was complete, Raptor picked up both bags and headed to the elevator. Just before he punched the button, he groaned.
"Elevators out too, natch. Shit."
"The room is on the twelfth floor," said Peter with real pain in his voice. "I think he put us up so high because you were so nasty to him. How are we going to climb all those stairs?"
"With our feet, that's how." Raptor walked over to the stairwell door and banged it open. A dim reddish glow came from emergency lights, enough to negotiate the stairs by. Peter took out his cell phone and put it to his ear as he followed.
"Hello? Yes, this is Peter. We're at our hotel. Yes, I thought so. All right, we'll sit tight until we hear from you." He put the phone away, disengaged his necktie and grabbed the hand railing. "I checked in, and yes, the arena's dark. Everyone has the night off until further notice."
"Oh, goody." Raptor stomped up the stairs, luggage in hand.
Nine flights later, Peter collapsed on a landing and gasped, his face bright red and his mouth flopping open like a fish's. "Please...I...have...to rest," he got out, clutching his chest. "I can't...move...another inch."
Raptor put down the bags and leaned against the wall. Sweat stains spread down the sides and chest of his shirt. "Gotta drop some of that flab, Peter."
"I've tried. You know that. It all comes back and more. Anyway, it's my gimmick!" Peter tried to laugh and started a coughing fit. "Oh, God...I need some water...I've sweated pints on this staircase." He had taken off his jacket and tie and rolled up his sleeves, but both his undershirt and his white dress shirt were gray and translucent with sweat.
"Right." Raptor sighed and leaned down to help him up. "I'll come back and get the bags later."
"Why, I didn't know you cared." Peter smiled up at Raptor and let him put an arm over his shoulders.
"Not interested in having you drop dead on me. Who's going to hold my coat while I'm in the ring? The Raptor couldn't work without his goddamn manager."
Their height differential made the maneuver awkward, but Raptor half-carried Peter as they climbed the last three flights of stairs. His arm knotted from the effort and sweat matted a few strands of his hair against his forehead, but he said nothing. Peter leaned against him, hand pressed to his side, plump hip jammed to long muscular thigh. For a moment he closed his eyes, his nostrils dilating with a deep breath. Raptor stared straight ahead, his free hand yanking at the railing with every step and propelling them upwards.
At the twelfth floor, Raptor opened the door at the landing and looked down the hallway. The red emergency lighting transformed shabby carpet and scuffed walls into a passage to the netherworld. Dark doors marched down the hall into dimness with no discernible end. Peter blinked and grimaced. Someone opened the door of a room and a ray of late sunlight lanced into the hall for a moment.
"This bites," someone said. "I'm boiling! Let's go out and see if any restaurants are open." A couple came towards Raptor and Peter as they walked down the hallway; Peter disengaged himself from Raptor's arm and tried to straighten his disarranged shirt, now hanging out of his waistband. He breathed hard still, his face twitching under the sheen of sweat.
Raptor moved a few paces ahead of him, falling to the side to let the couple pass them. Peter now looked directly at his back. Even in the dim light, the swell of Raptor's muscular buttocks was visible under his jeans. Above that rose his firm waist and the outward slope of his lats filling out his tight shirt, leading up to massive shoulders draped with his long hair. Peter mopped his forehead once more, but the handkerchief could not soak up another drop.
Raptor stopped to peer at room numbers. "Nope—a little farther. OK, here we are." He pulled out the key and opened the door. Again the outside sunlight broke into the hallway, but it dimmed as the sun declined. In another hour, it would be entirely dark. "Go get a drink or something. I'll get the bags."
"Thank you." Peter had to brush past him to enter the room; Raptor stood in the doorway and didn't move. Their bodies rubbed together briefly. Raptor turned and dropped the key on the hall carpet.
He bent to find it, searching for a moment in the dim light. His ass aimed through the door and straight at Peter, who stood transfixed. His plump face sagged and his mouth dropped open. Black denim stretching taut over full cheeks and flat across the deep split between them; the dent in each hip pulling in the muscles as if to highlight the lush curves of Raptor's buttocks. His long thighs parted as he stooped lower to pick up the keys, and the fullness under his fly emerged.
Again pain crossed Peter's face; hurt and longing and something close to anger. His lips quivered and he ducked into the bathroom.
When Raptor returned with the bags, Peter had regained some composure, but had shed most of his sweaty clothes. He sat by the opened window in his undershirt and shorts with a glass of water, fanning himself with a restaurant guide and patting his cheeks with a damp washcloth.
Raptor dumped his bag on one bed and Peter's on the other. He stretched his neck and rubbed it as if it were sore, and then reached for the hem of his shirt. With deliberation he untucked it from his jeans, flexing his torso from side to side to pull it free. Crossing his arms, he worked with a slow upward rocking motion, exposing his ridged stomach, his broad chest muscles. The shirt covered his face as he brought his arms overhead and stretched to his full height. His hair slipped out and over his pale skin; the shirt was off. Throwing it in the corner, he reached for the buckle of his belt.
"Stop it." Peter slumped, elbow on the windowsill. "You know I can't stand it."
"I'm going to take a shower. What, you want dibs?" Raptor unbuckled his belt and pulled out of the loops, slowly, like a stripper toying with a feather boa.
"You know what I mean!" Peter's voice cracked and went high. "You know perfectly well what I mean! Don't pretend you don't know what you do to me."
"I'm not doing anything to you."
"You told me it was over—you weren't a green kid any more, you were a star with your own clout—I accepted that! That's what I groomed you to be. We'd succeeded beyond our wildest dreams. You'd outgrown me, even though I hoped otherwise. Leave me in peace! It's been four years, and still I dream of—"
"Dreams?" Raptor's voice rasped in the dimness; the last light of the burning sun caught the glint of his eyes and the red tones that hid under the dark tint of his beard.
"I hate you sometimes. Truly, I do. You know how beautiful you are! Those fans scream it at you every day! Women throwing themselves at your feet, quite literally, and all the signs at the shows and the letters you get—you've only grown more alluring as you mature, and still you flaunt yourself like some insecure little boy! Why must you torture this old fat man? Just for reassurance that I still want you? You'll never let me have you again, so why do you care?"
In answer, Raptor unsnapped his jeans. Peter sat trembling as he eased the zipper down, tilting his hips forward. The rasp of the metal teeth grated in the silence. He pushed the jeans down the sides of his hips, wriggling to let the tight folds slide over the curve of his buttocks. Underneath he wore black low-cut briefs, his heavy bulge packed between his thighs. The jeans slid down his legs and hit the floor; he stepped out of them.
Raptor slipped a thumb under one leg band of his briefs, pulled it out for a glimpse of smooth cheek, let it snap back. Then he walked into the bathroom and closed the door.
Peter sagged and gulped his water. The shower started up and the glass door slid shut. He pulled up his undershirt and unsnapped the fly of his boxer shorts. One plump hand searched inside and closed over his stiffened, weeping penis. He gazed out at the red sky, the sweltering city, and tried for a few minutes to cool the terrible heat in his body.
He could not find relief. Without Raptor, there was none...
Peter lay on his bed in his bathrobe, staring at the ceiling. No sound had come from the bathroom in a long time. Not the shower running, not the toilet flushing, not even the sound of Raptor pleasuring himself. He liked to do that where Peter could hear, voicing himself with sensual groans, the way he never had when Peter had touched him.
The sky had gone dark, the city unnaturally quiet, echoing with choruses of car horns and the wail of sirens. The only light came from stray headlight beams, reflecting off glass walls and up to the high window of the hotel room. And from the dull yellow glow of sullen, low clouds that had rolled in to lie over the city like a wet wool blanket, keeping in the heat for the night. There would be no reprieve in darkness.
The bathroom door opened; Raptor came out, naked. Reflected headlights danced around his giant figure, bathing it in an eldritch glow. His dark hair snaked over his face and neck in wet elf-locks, and his genitals moved with the sway of his hips as he walked. Relaxed in the heat, his soft cock and dangling balls looked huge. His undyed pubic hair still had his natural color. A cloud of orange-blond, like a child who had spilled his breakfast juice in his lap.
Peter rolled to his stomach and stared at the headboard. Raptor pulled back the covers on the other bed and threw them to the foot. A pause. Then the mattress on which Peter lay dipped under a weight that settled on the end.
"I'm not doing anything."
"You're sitting on my bed."
"That never used to bother you."
"Why should I?"
"Then you admit you're doing something."
Raptor sniffed and smacked his lips a couple of times. "OK, maybe I am."
"Why?" Peter rolled over and looked up at the near-expressionless face at the foot of the bed.
"No taping, no workout. I can't even watch TV. Maybe I'm bored."
"You play dominoes when you're bored."
"Yeah, when there's nothing better to do." Raptor stood, raised his arms and locked his hands together above his head. Arching his back, he jutted his pelvis forward. Peter's eyes traveled helplessly along his chest and down to his groin. The huge cock lolled there in its incongruously bright nest, insolently out-curved like a beckoning finger pointed downwards.
Raptor slowly rotated his hips, shoulders echoing the motion. "You like it, Uncle Peter? You like looking at me?"
"Oh, God, don't call me that!"
"Why not? You used to like it."
"That was when—oh, Raptor, you know how I felt! All you had to do was walk in front of me, or look down at me with that little smile—I was your slave! I was supposed to be the senior partner and the teacher and I tried so hard to be stern, but I worshipped you! Every magnificent inch of your body!"
"You still feel that way, Uncle Peter?" Raptor put one knee on the bed and leaned down, wet hair flopping forward. "You still want my hot ass? Want to suck my cock?"
Peter cried out, hiding his face. "You're a demon!"
"Who made me into what I am? I was just a big carrot-top kid from Texas until Uncle Peter got hold of me."
Peter shuddered and gibbered, meaningless words spilling from his lips.
"You taught me a lot, didn't you? Hell, yes. I didn't have a clue at first. I'd barely heard of that kind of thing, but you sure showed me how." Raptor crawled forward on the bed on his hands and knees, teeth bared and genitals dangling. "You'd get those paws on me every night. Feel me up in the locker rooms, stick your hands in my trunks and grope me with sweat running all over your fat face. Crawl into my bed after the show and kiss my shoulders while you ground into me for hours. Go down on me while I was driving the rental cars from town to town, make me come and lick it off my thighs...oh, that innocent kid learned everything from you!"
"Raptor, don't remind me! I was insane! I felt so guilty, but I couldn't stop! I adored your body so much, and you didn't fight me..."
"Yeah, I let you do it, because I was young and I was lost without you. At first I didn't even think that I could turn you down. I thought it came with the territory and I'd just have to keep my pecker up." Raptor grinned unpleasantly. "Then I realized that you wanted me more every time you stuck it in me. You treated me better after you'd gotten your rocks off. You gave me stupid little presents and tried to talk about personal stuff with me. You started asking me if I liked it. You even began to kiss me.
"Yeah, kiss me on the lips, like I was your lover or something." He spat out the words like swallowed poison. "God, I hated that. Your tongue in my mouth. Worse than getting butt-fucked every night. I drank gallons of whiskey just to kill the memory of the taste."
"Raptor...I'm sorry...your beautiful ripe mouth..."
"I wanted to throw up, but I knew this was important. Something was going on that wasn't just your managerial prerogatives, and I helped it along as much as I could stand to do." Raptor hissed into Peter's ear. "The student learned more than what his teacher had to tell him. He learned his teacher."
"You provoked me...the way you'd wave your ass around, even in the ring...roll it up at me when you did a pin—the way you stared at me! You teased me on purpose!"
"If you decided that you weren't my student any longer, then why did you keep me around? Just to torture me, now that I couldn't leave you?"
"You were still useful. And I was waiting for something. The right time. The right place and the right performance." Raptor's face hovered over Peter's, his breath ruffling his black-dyed hair. He put his hands on the bed, one on each side of his head, trapping Peter where he was. A drop of sweat fell from the slope of his nose and splashed on Peter's face, making him start. "I was waiting for this."
Peter let out a cry. He opened his eyes, tears oozing from them, and stared into Raptor's. Green in the strange glow, poison green like dead things in the unnatural heat of decay.
"Demon," he whispered. "I was making love to the devil's own child..." He clutched at Raptor's shoulders, straining to reach his lips. Raptor avoided him, ducking down his body. He parted the bathrobe, dove between Peter's knees, engulfed his penis with his mouth.
Peter screamed, grabbing Raptor's hair. Big hands restrained his thighs. He could not break the grip, though his ample stomach quivered in the effort. Going limp, he moaned. Raptor bobbed his head, sucking hard and audibly. His saliva glistened on the shaft of Peter's penis. With ease he took it all the way into his mouth, stubby and thick and desperately hard. His cheeks pulled in as he swallowed with Peter's penis buried deep in his throat.