The Love Model Sessions Pt. 04

"Just finished some new music. Fell into bed," Arthur replied, then, "today took it out of me."

"Saying I'm hard work?" Jean-Luc quipped, only to immediately unintentionally answer his own question with, "I am hard work, though!" More laughing emojis.

"You did nearly suck the life out of me, in the best way..." Wink.

"Nowhere near!" Counter-wink. "Not yet."

Arthur recalled the day. His testicles still ached. He was lucky not to have suffered a serious back-up, but his balls were so ripe and full that even his prostate ached.

What to say to that though? "Better luck next time?" Arthur sent back.

"I think you underestimate how much of a slut I've been trying NOT TO BE the past two weeks, Arthur," came the not entirely expected confessional bomb. "And frankly I'm running out of willpower."

Arthur's cock was no longer slumbering against his inner thigh, but rather lolling in the direction of his chin. "Try not to cum, he said. It'll be fun, he said!"

7.

The phone rang. Arthur picked up. Jean-Luc sounded almost indignant. He was not a natural actor. "And who started that game?" he demanded.

Arthur laughed unreservedly. "You did."

"I did, didn't I?" Jean-Luc chuckled all too agreeably. A sigh followed.

"I like you a lot, you know," Arthur said from the heart. "You're teasing me something rotten and I like the game we're playing, but I want it to be on record that I respected my way into your pants."

In Jean-Luc's living room the television was now off. He was sitting up, bent over, teetering on the edge of his seat. "Oh Arthur," he uttered solemnly.

"Too much?" Arthur asked, spoken so softly.

"Arthur, ever since I've gotten to know you..."

"Yes?" Arthur's voice now took on its own edge.

"It's been an eye-opening experience to see you wearing pants at all," Jean-Luc gushed hopelessly, to which Arthur silently laughed himself apart.

"Please, by all means, date me," Jean-Luc went on, his voice filled with nervous excitement. "But I would be such a willing little boy slut for you, and I don't know if you'd ever be able to take me so seriously," he said, now switching off the living room light and headed for his own bed.

"The things I will do," Jean-Luc uttered, trailed off.

Arthur heard almost nothing but his own laboured ragged breathing by that point, until he tried to force himself to calm, exacted a deep breath, and realised during that pause that he was not the only excitable one.

"It's more than that though, isn't it?" Arthur spoke eventually, his voice deep and raspy beneath his laboured breaths. "You feel it too."

"I feel things with you I haven't felt," Jean-Luc's weak voice pleaded. "Because, unghhhh," he growled hungrily, "the physical bonding in that studio, the way you hold my gaze, the way you aren't afraid to be so intimate with me - it's all so backwards!"

And maybe it reminded him of past regrets, possibly a feeling new to nobody alive today.

"You're so easy to love, Jean-Luc," Arthur interjected the very moment that he could.

"Don't use that word," Jean-Luc begged, now pacing up and down the bedroom floor. "Not before you really know me."

"Okay," Arthur relented, confused but ever patient.

"I'm sorry. I'm feeling things, and you probably are too, that people don't normally feel, because of what we're doing," Jean-Luc held the floor again, "all for a silly art project - a dare!"

"I feel what I feel because I like you, Jean-Luc," Arthur insisted. "As far as the project goes, I turn up to get naked with you and all that jazz, and it allows me to feel things I only wish I'd been able to feel with people in my past who acted like they loved me."

"Oh, that's deep," lamented Jean-Luc, realising more and more now what was at stake.

"But the idea of you wanting to be my adorable little boy slut?" Arthur contemplated. "Unnnghhh," he growled safely away from the mouthpiece of his phone.

"Am I confused, Jean-Luc?" Arthur searched.

No! Jean-Luc knew that wasn't the case. Arthur was hurt - hurt in a way that wasn't so irreversible or rare, or even in a way that commanded compassion.

But wasn't that such a cruel fate? To be that capable of love and yet to have never found it? Who could do such a thing to a man like this? Was it a woman? A man? They still knew so little about each other.

Arthur was now sat on the edge of his bed, listening with a silent intensity, shoulders heaving. And as though two people could share the same space while existing in two different dimensions, Jean-Luc let the wind leave him and settled down on the edge of his own bed, stooped and submitting to the heart-rending feeling in his chest.

8.

He was afraid. Over the moon hopeful and hopelessly weak for Arthur all at once, but admittedly afraid too. Want for intellect and you will find conundrum and confusion. Want for love and you will find monuments to regret and to wounds that never healed.

Want for nothing, Jean-Luc reflected, and just take what you need. "Arthur?"

"Yeah babe?"

Jean-Luc snorted. "I really am looking forward to that date. But we left each other unfinished earlier," he reflected sorely, but softly.

"I almost couldn't contain myself," Arthur responded agreeably.

"You know and I know neither of us wanted it to stop," Jean-Luc enticed, that French tongue working seductively once again. Hairs stood up on Arthur's neck, and then his arms...

"Ugh, I want you so fucking much," Arthur implored. "You have no idea."

"Oh I've been having great ideas ever since we met," Jean-Luc laughed cutely. "And I was having them at dinner today, and when we kissed again, and again..."

Jean-Luc's libido purred from within now, like a coasting racecar, sex on wheels. Arthur's was soaring like a bird of prey, gliding, biding...

Arthur admitted, "I wanted to just lose control earlier, you know?"

"Mm-hm?!" Jean-Luc agreed without a doubt.

"...to push it as far as it would go," Arthur went on responded groggily, taking deep and measured breaths in a bid to remain focused. "But I like you too much. It's important you know that I respect you."

Jean-Luc quickly assured, "I know you do!"

"That everything is... mutual!"

"Oh it feels very mutual between us," Jean-Luc responded, with a cryptic chortle. "I love that about you, Arthur," he then reflected admiringly. "You really care about my feelings, don't you?"

Arthur said faithfully, "I do, strongly."

"Me too!" beamed Jean-Luc, and then sultrily, "And I really want us to feel more things mutually."

The implications were not lost. "I wanted it today too. I can't stop thinking of what could have happened if we'd just done what we wanted to."

Arthur cracked finally. The defensive wall came down. Everything within the vicinity of his roaring sexuality swept away. "We should have," he agreed. Still he wasn't prepared to hear the words that came next.

"Thinking of you filling me up, giving me deep backshots with that amazing dick of yours," Jean-Luc gushed, the words coming in a rapid tumble. "I just know I could slide my boy-pussy all around it, get you all up in me."

"Jesus, Jean-Luc," Arthur groaned hoarsely, reached shakily for a cigarette. On the other end he could hear Jean-Luc softly moan. Food for thought. He lapped it up without asking. He confessed, "I think of that most of the time anyway."

"I knew it wasn't just me," Jean-Luc chuckled. "And my prostate has been throbbing like crazy ever since I had you in my mouth," he continued relentlessly. "I could cum in an instant right now feeling you go bare up against it."

Arthur couldn't even hold his cigarette straight. He stubbed it out in the bedside ashtray and stood up to pace the room, cock full, hard, bobbing stiffly in front of him like a heavy blunt weapon. Red-faced and breathless he reached for his jeans - hung on the radiator - and threw them onto the bed.

"That's a risk I'm willing to take," he urged. "Just say."

"I trust actions, not words," Jean-Luc teased.

"Right now?" Arthur urged.

9.

Barely past ten the intercom at the main door buzzed. Jean-Luc simply knew. In the dim light of the apartment, basking in the stark light of the hallway outside which shone through a beveled glass panel above the door, he approached wearing nothing but a tight pair of black briefs and a simple white cotton vest which also hugged his lithe athletic form, and buzzed his late evening guest in.

Then as nimble footsteps signalled his ascent up the stairs Jean-Lu released the lock on the door with a flick of the wrist, and opened wide with a knowing smile.

He did not have time to steel himself, not that he'd imagined that he should have to. His spirits were high, so was his heart in his throat. And as he shrieked the sound didn't come to completion. Freezing cold, dripping wet, Arthur took hold of Jean-Luc and kissed him needily.

Arthur was drenched from head to toe, battered by the storm simply by running from car park to apartmment building, and he had not come wearing a coat.

Quickly though, the door flung shut behind them as the smacking of their lips hastened. Arthur hummed appreciatively into Jean-Luc's open mouth, tongues mating, and in an instant beyond that the soaked t-shirt moulded to his torso was being peeled off like sellotape.

Breaths mingled hot and heavy, and frantic now. Arthur returned the favour, getting Jean-Luc's comparatively warm and dry body out of his clothes. And instinctively then Arthur licked and kissed his way down that smooth perfect body, where he took Jean-Luc in hand and fell to his knees.

"I need to taste you again," Arthur whispered down his half-protests, and alluringly slid his tongue out to receive the hardening penis suspended right before his parted lips. It was when Jean-Luc so tenderly ran his fingers through his hair that he closed his eyes and pursed his lips around the sweet intruder.

It took almost no time at all for his mouth to fill up, first with a torrent of hot saliva, and then with the remaining five throbbing inches of his lover. Arthur's coaxing hands took their cue then and filled themselves with those smooth supple glutes, now flinching in response to Jean-Luc's sensitivity to his impressive ministrations.

Too soon, Jean-Luc's hands - with a newfound assertion - gripped Arthur's strong sinewy wrists, and coaxed them away. Arthur then found himself being pulled back up to his feet.

"First let's get you warm," Jean-Luc intimated.

10.

One inviting hand opened up to welcome him in. He took it, cleared the knee-height of the bathtub easily, drawn to the unadorned vision through the steam where they embraced and held each other beneath the shower head.

Hot water rushed in jets over his icy skin, scalded him like hot wax in an instant, but was then replaced by a soothing, pleasurable warmth. Arthur, cheek to cheek with Jean-Luc, tilted back his chin to further quench his need for warmth and comfort.

Now the both of them shivered, but no longer from the cold. As flesh shimmered and slithered in unison without friction, muscle clenched and quivered in anticipation. And as the adrenaline and other delicious hormones permeating both hot-blooded young males synchronised into mutual movements expressive of a single-minded need, their mouths met to communicate more intimately.

Hands, slick and friction free, caressed and slithered sensuously. Arthur swept back Jean-Luc's hair, mopping the fringe from his eyes to view the glassy ocean blue.

The boy who once led the play, who feigned adoration so convincingly on Carrie Sledge's studio floor that it was in itself an act of seduction, and whose hints of mischief and harmless misdemeanour spoke bolder than the everyday flatness of words as this chemistry grew between them, was as here as ever.

But in his eyes now pleaded an animal spirit, a sentient instinct not so common as those called to obedience too easily by the call of the lizard brain. Arthur gently attacked his lower lip with a kiss, sucked it between his teeth, tugged, let it go - went back for more with a smooch and a flick of the tongue.

As Jean-Luc requited, he looked up into the treacle-brown eyes of a big game cat. A sigma that might have been cautious in approach, but was fully confident in predation of its captive. Too confedent - Jean-Luc easily captured his tongue and expertly sucked it into his mouth where they wrestled, swirled, ululated.

Arthur was no dangerous animal, not just some merciless beast. His shoulders might have heaved tall and broad, leaving Jean-Luc eclipsed in the mists beyond the bathroom light, and inside of him may have purred a powerful biological machine of carnal inclination, but also behind those dark and hungry eyes lay a vulnerability; and perhaps the hurting wounds of a loyal pet.

They were fully giving in to each other the moment those two animal spirits connected. Bodies responded in full. Hearts pumped to elevate the senses, to need to mate, the expanding emotions of two flesh and blood souls becoming...

11.

Something!

Neither knew what. A cliff edge of raw feeling stood before them and one from which they gladly dove, and that was what it felt like as Jean-Luc led Arthur by the hand to his bed. Gravity at its most exhilerating, freefall towards the inevitability of self-fulfilled prophecy.

Like walking through a wormhole into another reality, the entirety of all that flashed before his eyes could have proven too much to pay attention to all at once. So he focused steadily on the jut and sway of the smooth hairless bottom before him as it led the way.

And all he cared to notice about the room was that it had a bed big enough, that the warm glow of the lamplight shone upon the body of the boy he desired so much, highlighted all that motivated him to act upon his feelings toward him.

He was guided to the bed, pushed down onto his back, and fell into a mess of soft pillows. And all the while his libido remained standing, too proud.

Jean-Luc's expression in the dimness was a warm, wide-eyed smirk, almost feline. As if to live up to this, he pounced with well-measured grace up onto the mattress, and quickly straddled Arthur's hips, immediately taking note of the stiff phallus stroking against his smooth firm perineum.

His smirk widened, he rested back into it, and danced a little along its length, while seeking Arthur's hands. Finding them, interlocking them with his own, he easily subdued Arthur so that his wrists were crossed above his head.

With a delicate vigor Jean-Luc began to kiss his lips, licked them apart, sucked at them, nibbled at them, and matched for volume the sodden pitter-patter of the downfall against his bedroom window.

"Let's have some music," he suggested as Arthur lay content, hands roaming.

"Sure," Arthur whispered back, "whatever you want," - and was flattered to hear his own music soon breathing new dimensions of heat into the bedroom. "Hey I know this guy..."

"Yeah he's such a dork!" Jean-Luc snorted. "Still, I'd fuck him," he attested with a wink.

Arthur snaked a hand around Jean-Luc's neck, coaxed him closer again, and directed his lips back onto his own for a wet smooch. "Never give up on your dreams," he cracked cockily, causing Jean-Luc to giggle into his throat.

Both shivered. "Let's get under these covers for a bit," Jean-Luc suggested, pouncing off, then dragging the duvet from under Arthur and draping it around himself. Like Dracula fanning his cape then, although Jean-Luc wasn't about to turn into a bat, he pounced again, covering them both.

12.

He had become so lost in the music of Arthur; the sounds, the vocals, the rhythms.

He had become so lost in the feast of Arthur; the tastes, the textures, the aromas.

And he had become so lost in his own feelings; the doubt, the reverence, the guilt, the desire to worship and lose himself.

So much so that he had lost himself in all the rapture of allowing himself to be loved in a way so tender that it terrified him. So he lay back in awe upon coming around to the realisation that he had put a ring on Arthur's finger somewhere in all of this - now two liberally lubricated middle fingers to be precise, and was having his prostate milked while his lover milked his stiffened cock too.

And "oh god," were the only words that could escape him.

Confidently manhandling the cute young French-Canadian, his now self-confessed boy slut, Arthur alternated between orally worshipping Jean-Luc's swollen testicles and drooling erection, seemingly having all the time in the world to do so, and all of the spit required to keep him drenched.

The giddy feeling welled within Jean-Luc's abdomen, a growing warmth, a growing pressure, like a positive emotional radiance inflating him with a kind of happiness that was rare.

And "ah... hah... h'ahhh..." god didn't come this time.

Jean-Luc had experienced no drought of sexual partners in his life, and yet he had almost always been the one with his fingers on the control buttons. It was a matter of trust, of preference, of whatever excuse suited the mood at any of those times.

So it was a big deal to him that he could lie here cradled in the arms of a man and allow that to be done to him. As a sexual creature, and an emotional one too, he was experiencing a kind of fulfilment that did not need to be understood - simply felt.

"Oh my..."

Arthur continued to voice his wonder at just how pliant and malleable Jean-Luc was in his hands. His slippery hot little boy pussy yielded and moulded itself around him as Arthur beckoned Jean-Luc hither, to squirm and moan on the sweet spot his fingertips caressed with love.

Jean-Luc was shaking like a leaf. The opposite of cold, he was beginning to shine with perspiration. Arthur regarded him longingly, silently, slowing his ministrations to a crawl as Jean-Luc's eyes became lucid again and an emboldened expression overcame him.

Despite his fixed and compromising position, with his thighs folded back into him, he reached down with almost elastic dexterity and steadied Arthur's hand by the wrist. He eased Arthur out, unfolding himself, and came to a sitting position, eyes burning with lust.

And piercing Arthur with his eyes, he rested his sweaty forehead against Arthur's and exhaled a deep and wavering breath. Arthur kissed his cheek, his nose, his forehead, again mopped the hair away from his face.

Jean-Luc breathed steadier, feeling the deep throb within him ebb and flow, neither coming nor going. It just stayed there, a heightened arousal which could now be satisfied one way only. He closed his eyes, took one last deep breath, and then opened them again.

"Fuck me," he whispered.

Arthur's kisses became more direct. "Yeah?"

"Fuck me, fuck me," Jean-Luc repeated, placing the tube of KY into Arthur's hand and meeting his deepening kisses. "Get up here," he urged, clambering backward into the middle of the bed.

"How do you want me, beautiful?" Arthur asked, rising to his feet and standing doubly proud.

In one feline movement, Jean-Luc flipped over onto his hands and knees, arched his back and waved invitingly. "You'd better believe I want those backshots," he insisted, and with a quick liberal stroke of lube, Arthur came closer.

13.

Arthur gazed wide-eyed down the distance of his own navel. At the end of the road stood his aching thick-veined sex organ, long without a home to call its own. Slick with lubrication it glimmered in the bedside light, foreskin eased back, bobbing to attention.

Right at the tip sat the rosebud, the centre of the universe that now consisted of a smooth heart-shaped arse, also slippery, also feverish to the touch, and also visibly throbbing as Jean-Luc reclined to meet Arthur's incline.

Jean-Luc bore weight on one forearm to steady himself as he pushed back onto the tip, and chewed on his own lower lip as he felt it so easily stetch his ring despite its thickness. The other arm reached around to grab one wrist as Arthur held him by his hips, guiding him as he reverse-parked himself two more inches back, and then began the tease of letting an inch slip back out.