Archive for the ‘M/F’ Category


Posted: January 1, 2011 in Free Fiction, M/F, Short Story

Copyright (c) 2010 – J. P. Barnaby

As she watched his fingers flow gracefully, effortlessly across the keys, his back arched lightly and he allowed his head to fall back, lost in the low cadence of the piece. His closed eyes made his youthful, stunning features appear almost peaceful, something that only happened as he found that perfect place that was his music, or as he slept. The melody was soft, almost haunting in its depth as it cascaded through the suffocating confines of his small bedroom. Long, slender fingers caressed the keys, each delicate note infused with a passion from him that very few ever saw. She considered herself blessed to have such a privilege, because it almost seemed as if his hands moved independently of each other with amazing dexterity. A rich crescendo wrapped around her as she stood motionless in the doorway sending a chill racing through her. Or maybe the chill was inspired by the long, bare lines of his back that tapered into the slim hips half hidden by his well worn jeans. His feet were bare, as they always were when he worked and cuffs of the long jeans were tucked under his heels as he worked the pedals on the floor. The way he rocked almost imperceptibly in perfect rhythm with the notes as he played was not quite sexual, but it made her tremble nonetheless.
Everything about him made her weak.
Her fingers clenched reflexively on the doorframe as she fought not to cross the mere half dozen feet that separated them and push his long hair from his eyes. For years, she had joked with him about putting it in a barrette because she was almost desperate to feel its silky texture beneath her fingers. With his head back the way it was, only a small part of his bangs covered his closed eyes. The very ends touched the deep shadows that seemed to be a permanent addition to his beautiful features while the rest was tucked back behind his ears showing much more of his porcelain skin. His pale face highlighted by a slight flush of his cheeks, and the soft pink of his tender lips, the bottom one held between his teeth as he concentrated on his work.
Briefly, she wondered if he ever watched her while she wrote and then brushed aside the thought almost immediately. Why would he watch her, there was nothing special about her? From the long, brown hair that was either always too curly or too straight, her deep set hazel eyes always held a measure of sadness, and her almost boyish frame, she was thoroughly ordinary.
A soft breeze blew though the window next to his desk, moving the curtain and allowing a ray of early morning sun to fall across his face. Sensing the change, his eyes opened and the imperfect rays only served to offset the intensity of his majestic cerulean eyes. A veritable tempest of emotion raged through them as she stared, breathless.
It was like looking into the face of God.
The music abruptly stopped, and she heard a few mouse clicks as he saved his work onto the state of the art computer that sat next to his keyboard, a thin cable connecting the two which allowed him to record his sessions.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t see you standing there,” he said quietly turning in his desk chair in order to face her. His gaze remained on her, not quite looking at her, as the storm continued to rage in his eyes. The way his shoulders were curling in on him, she could see that he felt extremely vulnerable, as he generally did when he composed.
“I didn’t mean to bother you…I love…listening to you play,” she replied, stammering a little under the intensity of his gaze. But, as she watched, his face slowly closed, and then he grinned that fake happy grin that he wore for everyone else, the one that hid the pain he wanted no one to see. Her heart sank. She wished that just once he would open up to her. They had lived together for four years, attending the Academy of Fine Arts together – she in the literature program while he was in music. At first, she had been a little concerned, as were her parents, that she had been assigned a male roommate, but as time passed they found that, at least domestically, they were perfectly matched. After that first year, they found an apartment together where they would remain until graduation. As they were both seniors, that time was desperately running short.
“So, what are you making me for breakfast?” he joked, the mask perfectly in place. It broke her heart to see it, and she looked away fixing her gaze on the perfectly crafted lines of the hardwood floor beneath her bare feet.
“Come on, I’ll make you some pancakes, we have a little while before class,” she said, and something of the pain she felt must have come through in her voice.
“Hey,” he said quietly, walking over to take one of her hands in both of his. She felt a hum go through her fingers and up her arms, leaving her with goose bumps. It was as if his hands resonated with some secret power, a power that allowed him to create perfectly orchestrated music from nothing. Wildly, she thought about how those hands would feel over different parts of her skin. “Is everything okay?”
The sweet sincerity in both his soft voice and gentle touch brought a lump to her throat. Not meeting his eyes, she nodded, working hard to stem the flood of emotions that was threatening to burst from her.
“You know,” he said after a moment, and she could hear the forced levity in his tone. “I checked the schedule, and I’m pretty sure it’s my day to be morose.” Her gaze turned questioning, and he merely looked over at a calendar hanging on the wall under his Breaking Benjamin poster that had been signed by the band. She followed his look and saw with a sick feeling that it was the first of the month. His father called him on the first of every month for an update on how his money was being wasted by his disappointment of a son on his little music hobby. For the first year that they had lived together, she thought that her roommate was gay because of all of the slurs that his father hurled at him during his monthly visits.
Fag-boy, sissy, pansy…
Since they’d gotten an apartment, and his father could no longer publically humiliate him, the man had started to settle for monthly phone calls instead.
It explained perfectly the haunting melody he’d been playing that morning.
Without a word, she pulled her hand from his and slid her arms up around his neck letting her forehead rest in the crook of his neck. She let herself indulge in his spiced infused with a tiny hint of citrus scent as he wrapped his arms around her waist. Standing motionless, afraid even to breathe and break the spell, she felt the heat of his naked chest through the thin tee shirt she wore. When the mask was on, he was very affectionate and flirty, but this felt altogether different.
This was just for them.
When he finally pulled back, he pressed a light kiss to her forehead and moved down the hall, no doubt to take a shower. She stood motionless, replaying the feeling of his lips on her skin, of his arms around her, over and over again. It wasn’t until she heard the shower stop that she finally went to the kitchen to start breakfast.
During her first morning break, after the poetry class that she detested, she called the machine at their apartment to see if the bastard had called yet. She was worried about her friend, he’d seemed so withdrawn when he had left for class. The insults and constant negativity were starting to affect his music as well as his grades. He had been spending more and more time on the roof of their building, isolating himself, and she knew that it was so he wouldn’t have to keep up the pretense of being happy and social. Sometimes at night, when he thought she was asleep, she would hear him throwing things in his room or screaming into his pillow. He was screaming so fiercely that even though their beds were only separated by a single thin wall, he didn’t hear her tears for him.
It was her late day, and she didn’t want to think about what state he might be in when she finally arrived home. Last month, the first had fallen on a Friday and he had gone drinking after the call he received from the old man. She didn’t know if he was trying to prove something to his father, or to himself, but when he came back to the apartment, he brought a girl with him. Cold and alone, she was already in bed when she heard the soft titters of a decidedly female voice from the other side of the wall. Bile rose in her throat as she heard the girl’s muffled moans. In her mind she imagined him kissing some perfect looking blond sorority girl, with long slender legs wrapped around his waist.
It sickened her that rather than turning on some music and drowning them out, she’d listened, desperate to hear his voice. Without consequence to her own fragile heart, she wanted to know what he sounded like when making love, something that she would never hear in her own bed. Despite her nausea, she found that the erotic sounds of the girl’s nasally voice, and his gruff moans aroused her. Putting her hand against the cold drywall, it was the closest that she would ever get to touching him.
She sobbed harder that night than she could ever remember having cried before.
Hour after hour, class after class, she was distracted by thoughts and memories of him. She prayed that his father would be too busy ruling the world to call this month, but she knew that he was unfailingly predictable in that regard. Of course she wondered if his mother had lived, would the woman have put a stop to the harassment of her son? There wasn’t much she knew about the situation except that the woman had died just before he had started college, and that he missed his mother terribly.
When her last class finally ended, she called home to see if he wanted Chinese take-out. He didn’t answer. She sighed, and picked up the food anyway before heading back to the apartment they shared. Pulling in behind his black jeep, she was relieved to see that he was home rather than at a bar picking up another random girl. She climbed the two flights of stairs to their door, surprised to find it unlocked.
“Hey, I brought food, are you hungry?” she called through the stillness creeping through the apartment like a physical presence. The quiet was unnerving; he always had some kind of music playing. She set the food on the counter and quickly went to his room. It was empty. She checked her room and the bathroom, they were empty as well. The apartment wasn’t big enough for him to hide. He simply wasn’t here, though his wallet and keys were on the counter. An ice cold shard of fear slid into her stomach as she took off at a run for the door and then the stairs that led to the roof.
At first, she didn’t see him as she scanned the roof quickly in the failing light. She searched around the dusty air ducts and padlocked power stations, her panic threatening to consume her. Heedless of the beautiful sunset view afforded to her, she continued to search the dingy space. When she reached the opposite side of the roof, her heart caught in her throat. He was sitting on the waist-high safety wall with his legs dangling over the other side. It would take nothing more than a nudge to make him fall. With her heart pounding in fear, she walked quietly to where he sat.
“Hey,” she said quietly trying not to startle him. He didn’t say anything; he just kept looking down at the street below. As she moved to stand next to him she saw that his face was completely blank, and that scared her more than anything. Resting a hand tenderly on his shoulder, she felt that he was shaking, though his tee shirt and jeans were more than adequate for the warm night. He didn’t move, he didn’t speak, he simply stared.
She made her decision in an instant.
Taking his hand, she pulled in an effort to get him to come off of the ledge. After an initial resistance, he turned slowly and planted his feet on the ground, standing before her, his face still blank. She led him inside and back down to their apartment, but rather than stopping at the table to eat or taking him to his own room, she took him to her bedroom. Laying her hand on his cheek, she waited until he looked down at her. She noticed with great relief that the mask hadn’t returned, that he was allowing himself to feel.
“Do you trust me?” she asked in a whisper, and almost immediately, he nodded. Letting her hands slide purposefully over his chest, feeling his nipples harden under her touch and over his abdomen feeling his muscles tighten, she pulled his tee shirt out from where it was tucked into his jeans. He lifted his arms, allowing her to pull the shirt from his body without argument. It seemed he was beyond that, simply craving the affection and the comfort that it might bring him. She knew that was all it would mean, but she couldn’t bring herself to stop, to deny him what he needed most.
After unbuckling his belt, she opened his jeans, and pulled them down along with his boxers. He stepped out of them numbly as she wondered if it was his trust in her, or his pain that made him so compliant. God, he was beautiful. It was the first time she had ever seen him nude, and heat flashed though her as her cheeks flushed. With her face level with the curve of his hip, she wanted to kiss him, lick him, and suck him until he was as aroused as she was. But it wasn’t about her. It was about him. She had no idea what had transpired in the conversation with his father, but she was determined to bring him back from that dark place.
“Lie on the bed, on your stomach,” she urged and he complied without emotion or comment. As he lay motionless on her bed, she couldn’t help but think about the fact that he was finally there. He was naked, and in her bed as she had dreamt about for so fucking long. Her heart ached at the lack of joy in it.
Sitting on the side of the bed, close enough so that she could feel his body heat against her hip, she opened the bottom drawer of her nightstand. Pulling the thin, sheathed rope and a box of condoms from its depths, she set the box on the surface, and unfurled the rope. He still had his face buried in his arms as she laid the rope out next to him.
“Put your arms over your head,” she whispered and he looked up at her, noticing what she held. His eyes held hers, and his gaze was imploring as he reached up and grabbed the slats of her headboard. Resting his head on the pillow, he was facing her now, but his eyes were closed. He would have looked almost peaceful if not for the pain still radiating from every line in his face. She took his left hand and rested it on her thigh as she wrapped the rope around it easily. Knotting it firmly, she took his other hand and using the longer loose end of the rope, bound his right wrist to his left. When he was secure, she left a lot of slack in the rope as she bound the loose end to the headboard. He would be able to move his bound wrists, but not separate them.
She laid her hand on his shoulder, watching for any signs of distress from him, but he was motionless. Sliding down the bed carefully, she bound his ankles to the footboard in exactly the same manner. She took one quiet moment to run her fingers lightly through his hair knowing that she would never have the chance to do so again. Then, quickly pulling off her own clothes with absolutely no flourish or pretense, she stood over him feeling more naked than she had ever been.
Grabbing his discarded jeans from the old second-hand rug that separated her from the cold hard wood floor, she pulled his leather belt from its loops. Praying that he would not hate her for what she was about to do, she doubled the worn leather in her right hand. Placing one steadying hand on his lower back, she swung the belt feeling her heart break at the loud cracking sound and the subsequent cry of pain. He didn’t ask her to stop, he didn’t protest with either word or movement. He simply lay there and let her beat him.
After the fifth strike with the belt, he started to scream.
He turned his face into the pillow, and screamed with each snapping blow. She knew that she wasn’t exacting enough force for that kind of reaction, but the sound still ripped through her. It was raw and anguished. Tears streamed down her face as she watched his slim hips writhing on the bed, as his cries of grief and loss were torn from his throat. She continued with even measured strokes, watching his skin flush under the relentless torrent of blows. His soft skin trembled, relenting around the unforgiving leather of the belt.
Her arm ached, and just as she was finally about to concede, he began to sob.
At long last, she had broken through.
The belt hit the floor with a clatter as she crawled onto the bed next to him, his body heaving with the weight of his pain. Pressing her body close to his, she stroked his back, his hair, and his tormented buttocks.
“That’s it, baby, please just let it out…” she begged, moving her hand up to stroke his long hair as his face remained buried in the pillow as it if could absorb his anguish. For a long time, she held him, trying to console him. Eventually, as the room receded into full darkness, he began to calm and soon had stopped crying.
“He told me that once I graduated, he never wanted to see me again. The only reason he paid for college was because it was my mother’s dream,” he confessed, his voice cracking under the strain. “I’m alone now,” he whispered as if he were afraid to say it aloud.
“You’ll never be alone,” she whispered back as she kissed the back of his neck gently, lifting his hair off the nape. He tilted his head slightly, giving her more room and she took that as a sign of acceptance. She moved her lips down over his shoulder, covering it with feather light kisses.
“I have wanted to touch you like this for so long,” she murmured into his skin, and she felt him lift his head to look at her, but she couldn’t bear what she might find there. She begged silently for him to just give her that one night, it didn’t matter that the dawn would destroy her. He moaned softly, whether at her confession or her ministrations she wasn’t sure, but she trailed a line of kisses down his spine. A small keening whimper burst from him as her lips trailed over the soft skin of his buttocks, still suffused with heat from the belt. The sound quickly turned frustrated as he figured out that he couldn’t move into her touch, couldn’t spread his legs. He could do nothing, but accept her sensual caresses. His muscles clenched and relaxed, over and over, almost shuddering under her careful lips.
“Please…” he moaned, and that one word caused a wild spasm of need though her belly and her already ripening sex. Trailing one trembling hand along his inner thigh, she watched as his hips thrust down into the bed. He was so turned on by what she had done that he was stroking himself on the soft down comforter beneath him. She watched him for a long moment, his flexing hips, the way his hands clenched into tight fists around the edge of one of her pillows, but mostly she listened to the out of control sounds coming from his writhing form.
Untying his ankles quickly, she helped him to roll onto his back. She could not bring herself to remove the bindings from his arms for fear that he would leave. With his head resting comfortably on a pillow, she looked her fill of him, from his red swollen eyes to his fully erect sex. Straddling over his thighs, she ran her tongue slowly up his side causing him to buck beneath her. She smiled lightly as she used her tongue to deliver barely there flicks around his hardening nipple.
“Oh God…” he whimpered straining his hips up, stroking her tender stomach with his thick erection as she pulled the bud between her lips. With maddening slowness she kissed along his pectorals moving to the other side of his chest to lavish the same attention on his other nipple. He began to squirm against the bed in earnest, completely unable to contain himself. It brought her arousal to new heights, heights she had never reached with anyone.
Turning her head to the side, she caressed his chest with her soft cheek and her hair as she slid slowly down his shaking body. Kissing along his side, and down over his hip she almost painfully avoided the aching erection straining towards his stomach. Pinning his hips to the bed, she licked and grazed kisses over his pelvic bone and heard the headboard straining as he pulled against the rope binding him to it. Looking up briefly, she saw that he had his bottom lip between his teeth and his head was pressed back into the pillow.
She smiled at the sight before running her tongue gently along the crease between his inner thigh and his hip. His erection grazed her cheek, and she moved closer, peppering his pubic area with kisses, burying her lips and her nose in the coarse hair. God, he smelled like spice and musk and sex. She reached down and fingered one of her own nipples as his whimpering got louder. The sounds were so raw, so primal, that she couldn’t stand to tease him any longer. Flattening her tongue, she ran it along the underside of his erection from the base to the head. He bucked and cried out as if he were going to come right then, but instead she captured the head between her lips and sucked.
“Oh, my God…” he cried and she opened her mouth wide and once again buried her nose in the hair at the base of his sex, only it was embedded in her throat. She could feel his muscles strain as he tried not to move, tried not to thrust into her mouth. His balls tightened in her small hand as she rubbed them lightly.
His head rolled back and forth on the pillow as she looked up at him. Eyes tightly closed, every muscle in his neck and shoulders was straining as her head bobbed lightly, stroking him with her lips and her tongue.
“Please…I can’t…” he moaned as his hips continued to grind back against the bed. She pulled away looking up at him.
“Untie me…Please…” he implored, and she felt her throat burn with the rejection. She knew it was too good to last, that he could never want her. Crawling up the bed, her hands shook as she untied the knots around his wrists, she would worry about getting the rope off the bed later. Not looking at him, she started to get out of bed when he grabbed her hand and, scooting lower in the bed, pulled her to straddle his lap as he sat cross legged on the bed.
“I wanted to touch you too,” he whispered and ducked his head to take one of her nipples into his mouth. She took full advantage of the position and drove her hands into his silky hair, holding his mouth to her breast. Crying out in pure unbridled joy, she felt his arms move around her back as he cradled her.
As much as she wanted to prolong the moment, she could no longer wait to have him inside of her. Snatching a condom off of the bedside table, she ripped it open and flung the packaging onto the floor. Moving back just a bit, his hands fell to her hips and she rolled the latex down his rigid length. With his hands still on her slender hips, he helped her to impale herself, sinking down until he was sheathed fully in her tight, warm sex. He held her there as his eyes closed as she reveled in the feeling of their union, afraid that her heart might burst.
Her arms went around his shoulders while his went around her waist, and he pulled her as close to him as he could. Gently, she rocked back and forth, causing him to thrust into her, but allowed them to remain as close as two people could get. His face was pressed against her breasts, covering them with light kisses as they made love. It was more than she could have ever dreamed.
Soon the sensations, the sheer joy of their lovemaking, overloaded them. He dropped his face to her shoulder, and she rested her cheek on top of his head never breaking their perfect rhythm. He shifted his position slightly, and then his length was stroking that tiny bundle of nerves deep inside her that would be her undoing. Faster and harder she rode him, using her legs and her hold on his shoulders as leverage. Her sex was clenching around him, tightening until she thought she would scream.
Her climax hit her with such intensity that for a moment she forgot to breathe. With her head thrown back, she clutched at him, all measure of decorum forgotten. He drove up into her, trying to prolong the feeling, but as all of her muscles tensed, including those around his sex, which was already ready to burst, he came, exalting her name as if in prayer.
They stayed like that, joined in the most intimate of ways as their breathing began to slow.
She knew that their time was over, and like any fairy tale, the magic was about to end.
Therefore, it surprised her when he lifted her slightly and pulled the blankets over them both after discarding the condom in her bedside waste basket. Spooning behind, and wrapping both arms around her, he sighed lightly into her hair. She reached back and stroked his hair as his lips found her ear and his whisper filled her soul with joy.
“You are my family now.”