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3 a.m., New Year’s Day 1996, Paris
For an impromptu New Year’s party in Paris, the celebration couldn’t have gone better. Francis decided to take up the opportunity to host this year’s party after the celebration in Bangkok was canceled. It was the perfect electric mix of alcoholic drinks, lively music, and combined cheer. By the end of the bash, all hundred guests left the nightclub either plastered or tipsy, but sharing a bubbly smile on their faces as they chatted each other up and discussed after-party plans.
Arthur and Francis decided to walk home together after mutually deciding they were too tipsy to be behind a steering wheel but not inebriated enough to need a cab. Francis also insisted his place was only two blocks from the club. They both matched black suits, bow ties, and white shirts just for the hell of it.
“Did you notice… how we outclassed everyone there…? Can’t you say this is our year?” Arthur commented on their wardrobe choices, walking slightly ahead of Francis. They sauntered right by the Seine, deciding to take the scenic route despite how dark it was without streetlamps.
“Oh, oui…” Francis then came up behind Arthur, wrapping an arm around his waist and grabbing onto his wrist, dancing with him. “And how your singing voice is of the angels…”
Arthur chuckled, tilting his blushing neck to give Francis more room to plant kisses. “Well… If you say so…”
Francis then remembered one of the songs Arthur serenaded for the whole crowd. “Je vais, je vais et je viens… Entre tes reins… Go on, finish it, mon amour.”
“Je vais et je viens, entre tes reins, et je me retiens…”
They both giggle at the lyrics; they serenade each other. Arthur continued letting Francis kiss and suckle at the soft flesh of his neck. “Are you flirting with me?”
Halting his kisses, Francis whispered in his ear. “Maybe I am, but what man am I to reject your charms?”
Thus, without resistance, he continued. Arthur simpered but accepted his fate. “Let me guess… Les rapports sexuels, or whatever you Frenchies call it.”
“It’s just sex, mon amour…”
Arthur then shifted to face his lover, holding his jaw and cheek with one hand. “Let’s get home as fast as we can, shall we?”
“How many drinks have you had, mon cher?”
“Less than you, I’m sure.”
“It doesn’t seem like it… You’re more coy than this.”
“You expected me to gaze at you with that suit all night and act shy? I never thought I’d say this, but you undermine yourself, love.”
And that’s all Francis needed to affirm these desires.
His apartment in Asnières-sur-Seine is one of the more luxurious properties Francis has owned in his life. It oversees the Seine and is only minutes away from the Eiffel Tower, and thus connected to the bustle of Paris, which he has a soft spot for somewhere in his heart. What he learned over the years is that the next-door neighbors are hard-working individuals who enjoy their fair share of partying when it comes time, which is why he knew that both ends of the walls remained silent and devoid of any unnecessary company.
Both shoved their way through the front door, the keys dropping to the hardwood floor carelessly. They couldn’t wait to actually enter the apartment before grinding against each other, disassembling their attire one piece at a time, and kissing and suckling each other’s necks, lips, or faces. It must be a symptom of the alcohol… or other kind of suppressed longing as a result of being unable to see each other in almost three months… but mostly the champagne or vodka shots.
Francis pinned Arthur against the hallway closet. One of Arthur’s hands ruffled his lover’s dirty blond hair while the other’s fingers gently massaged his upper back. Francis undid the buttons of Arthur’s black suit jacket mindlessly as he adamantly kissed his collar, jugular, and the edge of his jaw. He breathed in his cologne like oxygen; aromas like juniper and black pepper excite the senses.
As Francis focused on appealing to Arthur’s physical senses, the hand previously carding through his hair moved to undo the buttons of his white shirt. Once the shirt was undone, Francis wasted no time migrating his hands to caress all the soft areas of Arthur’s waist and hips, to which he hungrily toyed with the belt fastening his trousers. Arthur conceded to Francis’s cogent yet silent plea for permission.
After messing with the silver buckle, Francis’s deft hands finally undid that as well without even batting an eye toward the area he was vehemently toiling at. He shuffled his suit jacket off his shoulders and set it down at his feet.
Francis’s lips moved to Arthur’s, and thus Arthur’s hands moved back to his lover’s neck and wavy hair. Eventually, he pulled away, but his lips remained glued to Arthur’s skin. They descended to his sternum, stomach, and then his navel; Francis bent his knees the entire journey until he kneeled on the once discarded suit jacket, now repurposed as a cushion.
All the while, his hands practically worshiped every minuscule detail about Arthur’s body from the bones to the silver scars and the domestic fluff around every edge. It could be sculpted by the hand of God, and Francis wouldn’t know the difference. Every inch is like scripture—a canvas he wanted to embellish.
Shivers ascend Arthur’s body as he felt his belts and trousers descend his legs by Francis’s will. Without wasting a second, Francis enveloped Arthur’s hardened member into his mouth. Arthur’s hands instinctually grip onto his lover’s hair, though not tight enough to hurt him, but enough to show that his expert movement is working just the way it should.
No matter what pace Francis went, Arthur still trembled and searched for that irreversible high. All the encouragement Francis needed was his lover’s shaky sighs that transitioned into quiet moans. The fact that Arthur naturally moved his hips to match Francis’s pace was also admirable, and the eagerness—he knew—was reciprocated.
Arthur tightened his fist full of Francis’s hair and threw his head back against the closet door; a choked groan followed his ejected seed. Afterward, his grip relaxed significantly, but his body shook with the intensity of the sensations and emotions. Francis swallowed before standing up from his kneel, kissing Arthur’s temples and parts of his florid cheek.
“Can we please do it on the balcony?” Francis asked with the softest, most docile voice he could muster.
“Was this all a coax, you asshole? Just for that, hell no.”
His hands rested on Arthur’s bare shoulders, retaining that half-lidded and tender gaze on his lover. “Does that imply you would do it if I asked nicely without the fellatio?”
“You’d be pushing your luck then.”
“Then may I, one day, be so fortuitous…”
“You’re sick in the head, you know that, right?”
Francis, by Arthur’s hips, brought him to the bedroom down the hall. “Only for you, mon cher…”
They lingered in the doorway; Francis was pinned instead, receiving the overtly sentimental kissing and suckling he was inflicting onto Arthur. A perfect exchange to him.
“You should shave that stubble of yours…” Arthur muttered as he kissed Francis’s jaw with an equal amount of affection. Notes of bergamot and cedar arouse his senses.
“What do I get in return?”
“We can do it on the balcony.”
“I can shave it off now.”
Arthur almost snorted at Francis’s swift response. “What is with you and that damn balcony?”
“Don’t you think it would be a once-in-a-lifetime experience?”
“It’d be uncomfortable…” Before Francis could go off in his version of wonderland, Arthur pulled him by the collar of his white shirt toward the bed, illuminated partially by moonlight peering through the balcony curtains. “Stick to the bed for now, love.”
Regardless of whether they were on the balcony or not, the true course of the meal would always be Arthur, and for Arthur, it’d be Francis. Besides, the bed was the most comfortable and familiar spot.
“Whatever you say, my dear…”
Francis laid himself on his back to allow Arthur a good straddling position. In only his unbuttoned shirt, Arthur could easily tell by the stiff “object” nudging against his bare inner thigh that Francis’s neglected erection requested attention as well. He chuffed at the sensation.
“That reminds me… You don’t happen to have protection and all that sorts on hand, do you?”
“Do you think of me as ill-prepared?”
“This meeting was rather spontaneous, no?”
Without another word, Francis reached over to the bedside drawer, pulled it open, and revealed a plethora of condoms, toys, and several bottles of water-based lubricant. Arthur was pleasantly but genuinely surprised, even though he shouldn’t be with Francis. “And… who exactly are you using all that on?”
“I was waiting for the time when you would come and stay over here.” His reasoning was valid, but Arthur still didn’t know why he needed so much. Even so, the way it is neatly arranged shows that it hadn’t been touched in a while.
“Were you expecting us to do it every bloody night?”
“Or… multiple times in one night…”
At his response, Arthur laughed at the absurdity. His hands began undoing Francis’s belt. “You dog…” Though, Francis didn’t mind what he called him, just as long as his needs were taken care of by nobody else but Arthur.
After freeing his member from its clothed restraints, Arthur briefly reached over to the open drawer and grabbed a random bottle of lubricant. However, upon flicking the cap open, he saw that the silver seal protecting the contents from spilling over was broken.
“I see it’s already been used, love?” He questioned, squeezing some of the cool gel in his palms. “Mind telling me why?”
“Well… Did you think those toys were only for you?”
Arthur smiled at the thought. After his hand was lathered in gel, he wrapped it around Francis’s manhood and started firmly pumping it, eliciting a slight jerk from his hips upward and fingers digging into Arthur’s thighs. “How long did you last? Less than a minute, I’m guessing?”
His voice maintained a perfect equilibrium between a whisper and normal volume. The words simply flow out of his mouth—warm and tempting.
“I’m waiting, darling…”
“Three,” Francis groaned. “Three minutes.”
Arthur merely hummed. “I’m surprised. You normally hold off for longer than that. What got you off?” To his question, he stroked faster.
“You, chéri!” It didn’t take long for Francis to succumb to whatever game Arthur was playing. Matter of fact, he loved the game, but feigning disapproval sounded more appealing to him. “The thought of you…”
“Oh, I almost feel flattered, love.” However, observing how eager Francis wanted to finish, Arthur wanted to beg he could finish faster than three minutes. It’s only fair to give attention, though playing fair isn’t exactly their specialty. “You know, I think I like you better when you’re not pissing me off.”
Arthur’s hand removed itself from Francis’s member, placing them now against the sheets to position himself better. The first contact between the entrance and the tip will always be an experience unlike any other. That first bullet of silver and the rush of adrenaline that kicked in is truly remarkable, at least to Arthur.
The lubricant performed its purpose well as there was little pain but the same amount of discomfort of being stretched after months of inactivity. As soon as Arthur familiarized himself with said discomfort and pleasure, it became a smooth journey from then.
Francis, on the other hand, had his reveries answered. Arthur atop of him, adorning only his white shirt hanging off his undulating shoulders; pink from the yearning and red from the adrenaline. That half-lidded, dreamy look to his pristine jade eyes was almost too ethereal to be considered a part of this reality.
Yet then again, Arthur had a touch—so ancient yet so divine—that Francis fell slave to every single time. It was grounding yet lifting; damning yet the remedy to every illness. He wasn’t sure when, but Arthur figured out how inept Francis became under his loving touch. He’d become a fool for him.
“Go on,” Arthur muttered between grunted sighs, “show me how long you last now.”
It was a challenge. A challenge Francis knew in some part of his soul, he could win and rub it all in Arthur’s smug face. As mentioned, Arthur knew how weak Francis was, and he just had to show how much he could endure.
Arthur leaned over, positioning his two hands on either side of Francis’s resting head. “One minute, love…”
However, Francis also knew what made Arthur tick. They weren’t enemies for a millennium not to understand every aspect of each other’s weaknesses and disadvantages. Swiftly, Francis sat up from his lying position, one hand pulled Arthur’s hips closer and the other grabbed onto his erection, and his mouth began suckling the bruised, soft flesh of his lover’s neck. Immediately, Arthur folded.
“Go on,” Francis repeated with a smile, “show me how long you last, chéri.”
Those quiet sounds soon turned into hapless cries and moans escaping from Arthur’s mouth. Francis could taste the salt of his sweat and the remnants of juniper. There’s a familiar knotting occurring in Arthur’s abdomen that he can’t deny exists. All these sensations were building up too fast for his liking and Francis didn’t appear to care for his time. He even quickened Arthur’s motions to add that difficulty, as if to rub it in.
He had to admit—he’d be bested.
Arthur dug his nails into Francis’s back and scalp as he let out a scream of ecstasy, ejaculating over his lover’s hand. His whole body shook with the intensity of the orgasm, but after the incredible high came down, he knew he lost.
“Almost two minutes… love.” Arthur wanted nothing more than to sock him in those gorgeous blue eyes for making him eat his words. Before he could enact that thought, Francis finally graze the prostate, and ensued an overstimulated reaction of pitiful whines and clutching hands. “Now, you wait until I’m done, yeah?”
One punch. Just one will do the trick.
Francis propped him on his back for better access to all regions of his lover’s body. Oh, how he reveled in his victory, able to see Arthur’s rosy cheeks and his body’s reluctance acceptance of its circumstance. He thrusted and kept grazing that special spot almost perfectly every time. Francis found an almost sadistic pleasure in the fact Arthur conceded so quickly.
After one last thrust, pushing them the closest to each other, Francis finished. He pulled out, feeling the last waves of his orgasm fade. Arthur remained on his back, panting, sighing, and waiting for his body to stop quivering from exhaustion.
Francis lied beside Arthur, gazing at him with adoring eyes. “I didn’t go too rough on you, did I?”
“Piss off.” Arthur didn’t even turn his head to reply.
As requested politely, Francis got off the bed and let Arthur have some time to wallow in his shame. In the meantime, he fixed a bath down the hall. The sound of running water and the scents of eucalyptus from the bath salts told Arthur so. After ten minutes, Francis returned to the bedroom in the nude as Arthur saw.
“Are you still upset?” He asked, lingering near the doorway.
“Which answer will inconvenience you the most?”
Francis knew Arthur to be a sore loser in all regards, so he didn’t take anything he said in that sulky attitude of his. He strolled over and kneeled to meet Arthur at eye level. “I prepared a bath for you. I’d get in while it’s still warm.”
And Arthur absolutely despised when Francis didn’t reciprocate his sulky attitude at all. Even so, it’s extremely convenient to sometimes wallow like a toddler since Francis typically did favors like prepare a bath or organize their discarded clothes. Besides, it felt all too nice to be cared for.
They decided to bathe together to “save” on the water bill.
“Are you still upset at me now?” Francis quietly asked, cupping sudsy water and running his hand through Arthur’s doused hair. “Or upset because you lost? Either is okay.”
“Can you stop being so nice? You almost sound condescending…” Arthur grumbled, leaning his head back against Francis’s shoulder.
“Whatever you want, my dear. I’ll insult you if you’d like?”
Like most things, Arthur didn’t actually keep on his demand. Subconsciously, or completely consciously, he snuggled closer to Francis’s body. “I don’t mind it… but tone it down.”
Francis smiled once again at his concession. He nuzzled his nose into Arthur’s hair, breathing in the soothing aroma of eucalyptus. “Whatever you say, chéri…”