Chapter Thirteen
In an odd way, the realization brought a sense of joy. That walk in the park hadn’t been just a sad little meander. It was, rather, the very first time John had gone for a stroll, the first time he looked up at trees and touched grass. How many people were lucky enough to remember their firsts so vividly?
And that kiss Harry had given him. That was John’s first too, just as Harry was his first friend and now might become his first lover. How wonderful! John wasn’t an amnesiac desperate to resurrect old recollections. He was quite literally a new man accumulating a wealth of fresh experiences.
And Harry had made him understand this.
John wanted to show his gratitude, but Harry wouldn’t even let him out of the tub right away. He insisted, in fact, on rubbing a soapy cloth over John’s body, treating him with utmost tenderness. This wasn’t the first bath Harry had given him, but John had been too weak to appreciate the first time. Now heat pooled low in his belly, his skin tingled deliciously… and his cock hardened. He looked down at it, surprised and pleased.
Harry was grinning. “We’re off to a good start, I guess.”
“I wasn’t sure I could…. I’ve never been aroused before. I didn’t know if I was physically capable.”
“Never?” Harry’s eyes were wide.
John shook his head.
“Jesus. Okay. We’ll just… take this slow. Make it good.”
He was true to his word. He took his time with the bathing, lavishing caresses on every inch of John, not even hesitating over the scars. His attentions made John feel desirable. And when Harry ran out of skin to clean, he shampooed John’s scalp instead. His fingers massaged the suds in, eliciting a low groan of pleasure from John.
Harry laughed. “If you think that feels good, just wait.”
John didn’t want to wait. He felt suddenly voracious for contact. It took all his will to be patient while Harry rinsed him, helped him out of the tub, and dried him with a large towel. It didn’t help that Harry’s excitement was evident through the thin fabric of his underwear—it was heady for John to have his effect on Harry confirmed.
He thought Harry might lead him into the bedroom right away, so he was surprised when he was maneuvered instead to face the mirror. After wiping the steamy glass clear with the towel, Harry stood slightly behind John and peered over him, hands on John’s shoulders. “Look at yourself,” he ordered.
“I did. That’s how I realized—”
“No. Look.”
While John gazed at his reflection, Harry licked his neck—a long streak of damp heat—and then sucked lightly at the juncture of neck and shoulder. Before John could fully process that sensation, Harry pressed the front of his body against John’s back and slid his hands from John’s shoulders slowly down his arms, over his hips, and then to his belly and groin. One hand caressed his abdomen, scar and all, while the other gently cradled his balls. So many things to feel at once. Harry’s hands were calloused, his lips smooth and slick, his body hard. His darker skin contrasted nicely with John’s paleness.
Moaning, John allowed Harry to bear some of his weight. His legs might have given out otherwise.
“Look at yourself,” Harry whispered in his ear. “This is you now. You’re a marvel, a miracle. I’ve never wanted anyone so much.”
“Not even… Cary Grant?” John asked between gasps.
Harry’s laughter echoed in the bathroom. “Not even. He was just a movie star—dime a dozen. There’s nobody else like you.”
John’s arms, pinned lightly in place by Harry’s embrace, hung useless at his sides. He wanted to touch too, but he couldn’t make his mouth work properly to ask for that. When Harry released his balls and began a slow stroke of John’s shaft instead, everything else ceased to matter.
It was strange. He had hated his prior constant weakness, but right now he was as weak and defenseless as he’d ever been, yet it felt delicious. His thin store of knowledge hadn’t informed him how magnificent it could be to willingly give yourself over to someone else’s power.
“H-Harry….”
“Getting close?”
“I don’t… I d-don’t….” Maybe. Something was building within him, and he didn’t want it to stop.
But Harry kissed his nape and let him go. “Bed,” he said hoarsely. His flush had deepened and spread, his breathing sounded rough, and good Lord he was beautiful. He took John’s hand, led him into the bedroom, and switched on the light. As John stood, stupefied, Harry shed his underwear.
John had never seen anyone else naked, so he had nobody to compare Harry to. But he was quite sure that no one could look as magnificent: muscular torso with a trim waist and narrow hips, a thick red cock jutting proudly from a neat bush of dark curls.
“Do you want to touch me?” Harry asked.
“Yes. Please.”
“I’m all yours.”
John’s fingers explored Harry’s skin, so smooth and hot. And he noticed something else: small scars. Not as many as he bore, and not nearly as large. Yet there were quite a few—thin lines, tiny divots, and small discolored patches—on his back, shoulders, arms and legs. Harry didn’t wince when John touched them. They might have come from childhood mishaps or from abuse by Harry’s father. Some were undoubtedly souvenirs of the manual work Harry had done since he was a boy. The scarring didn’t seem to discomfit Harry in the least. The blemishes were part of who he was.
Even humans were marked and shaped by the forces around them, it seemed.
Harry didn’t shrink from John’s explorations, not even when they extended to the most intimate parts of him. In fact, he closed his eyes and leaned his head back, allowing his mouth to fall open. Clear beads of liquid formed at the tip of his cock. He’d rarely been touched with tenderness, John guessed, and he appeared to crave it as desperately as John.
Eventually, without words, they moved to the bed. Harry arranged John on his back and, grinning wickedly, climbed over him and faced the opposite direction. That left his cock dangling inches from John’s mouth. John reverently palmed the heavy muscles of his ass. “I don’t know what to do,” he said.
“Copy me, if you want.”
And without further explanation, Harry lowered his mouth over John’s cock.
John thought he did a passable job of mimicking Harry’s motions, but it was hard to be certain when he was so overcome with sensation. He’d never imagined that it was possible to feel so good. That his body, instead of being a prison, could become a vehicle of pure pleasure.
When Harry climaxed, John swallowed eagerly—the only meal he’d ever taken. Then John’s bliss hit its pinnacle as well, and he roared his delight to the heavens.
Moments later, Harry lay beside him and pulled the blankets up. He snuggled tightly against John.
“I understand why you like sex with men,” John said.
Harry chuckled, his breaths tickling John’s cheek. “It’s not always like that. That was… special.”
John felt himself smiling. “Can we do it again?”
“We have all day tomorrow.”
Too short, far too short. Yet a wonderful gift nonetheless.