THIRTY-EIGHT DEGREES IN THE SHADE, Chapter 3
Warning: the following story contains graphic descriptions of sex between consenting adult males. If you are underage or do not wish to read such materials, or if reading this sort of material is illegal in your jurisdiction, then read no further. If you have any feedback or encouragement, or would like links to some of my other stories, feel free to drop me a line at niftystoryteller@yahoo.com.
I slept well that night, despite the unfamiliarity of my surroundings. Sandwiched between crisp, lavendar-scented sheets, soothed by the gentle breeze of a ceiling fan, stretched out next to Luc's sleeping figure, I was at peace. So much so that I did not reemerge into the world of the living until sunlight was streaming through the skylight that opened above us. Stretching like a cat, I looked over at Luc, who was turned away from me. He was mostly out from under the sheet, enabling me to study his nude body. My mind wandered back over what we had done together the previous night, and my morning erection pricked up its ears. Trying to be as quiet as possible, I reached out to touch the small of his back, and I allowed my hand to migrate down to rest on his left buttock.
Although I was very still, Luc began to stir. Under my hand, I could feel a tremor of awakening ripple through his body. Eyes still closed, he rolled onto his back and folded his hands on his chest. My attention was predictably drawn at first to his heavy dick, which flopped back against his belly. I thought briefly about once again burying my head in his crotch, but I opted instead for his lips.
"Bonjour," I said when he finally oped his eyes.
"Bonjour. Est-ce que tu as bien dormi?"
"Like a log." He looked at me quizzically, and I chuckled. "It's an idiom. Yes, I slept very well. And you?"
He nodded. "Everything was very fine. I hope that you liked your dessert last night."
"So much so that I might want another helping some time."
"The chef is always ready in the kitchen."
Sidling up next to him, I threw my leg across his thighs, pinning him down. Not that he seemed to be on the verge of going anywhere. He was content to allow my hand to roam over the lean, muscular planes of his body, and I was content to allow him to lean over and kiss me whenever he wanted, which was often.
"This is nice," he stated matter-of-factly.
"It could go on forever, as far as I'm concerned," I replied.
"But it won't."
I didn't answer for a moment. "No, I suppose not."
"How long do you stay in France?"
"I'm scheduled to fly back in exactly two weeks, from Paris."
"And what takes you back?"
"A job. An apartment. That's about all."
"Not a man?"
I put my lips over his mouth, hard enough that his stubble chafed my skin. "No, not a man. I'm completely free."
"But not free enough to stay in France a little longer."
It was a statement more than a question, and I could not really dispute it. It was extraordinary enough that I had taken a four week vacation in the first place, but I had needed a break after three grueling years. My rational side just hoped that I had not destroyed any chance of making partner at the firm, which was one of the whitest-shoed law firms in New York. Compounding the mistake by going AWOL would have been unthinkable, especially for someone like me, without the safety net of dynastic connections that might cushion a fall from grace.
"No, I should be on that plane."
"Well, Jason, you must like it a lot where you are from, to prefer that to me."
I laughed. "I do like New York. My work less so, but without it I couldn't live there."
"Why not?"
"My guess is that money isn't a very big problem for you and your family, but I'm not quite as lucky. It's a miracle I'm where I'm at right now."
"You mean in bed with me?"
I squeezed his nipple. "I suppose that's its own special miracle. But I was referring to my job."
"And what is it you do?"
"I work for a law firm that helps big companies take over other big companies."
"Maybe my father will hire you some day. That is what he does. He buys from other people so he will have more." Luc paused. "Do you like what you do?"
"I don't think its a question of liking."
Luc snorted. "What is the question then?"
I didn't immediately know what to say. What was the question that my life answered? "There are things that I like to do better, but I can't always do them."
"What is it you like better?"
I placed my lips against his ear. "Fucking you. But that isn't a job."
"No," Luc said, turning his face to mine. "That is art. But your whole life should be art, because it should reveal the truth of who you are. Everything you do should reveal truth."
He looked at me intently, almost daring me to look away, and I refused to give in. I held his gaze without flinching, and then we began to paint the canvass of the bed. Our bodies were our brushes, and our sweat, and spit, and cum were all of the paint that we needed.