Contains: 1x4x4x1 lemon (NC-17)

He’s taken me to a place that resembles a hot spring. In his briefs, he’s taken me from his quarters to a heated indoor pool.

He’s saying strange things as he leads me. “I hide here.”

Hide?

“This is a forest of moisture that I hide in.” He glances back. “I suppose that’s a strange way of putting it...but, when you’re completely honest, things tend to sound strange. ‘Perfectly flawed’...I’m fond of that.”

I wonder if he’s going to echo everything else I’ve said.

But I’m distracted from further speculation. Under the force of the humidity, my clothes are beginning to cling to me. I’m feeling heavy and....unbalanced.

I’m haunted as I watch steam rise from the water and the stones. He lives in a fantasy world and he’s slowly luring me in.

His words aren’t helping to keep me grounded.

“It’s easier to heal here,” he murmurs.

I watch him as he turns around to face me.

Easier to heal. Easier to hide. Easier to connive.

With the steam, his blemishes simply blend in with the rest of him. Even while shaken, he’s cunning.

What I can’t see, I can’t question. He’s not quite right. It’s the unseeable that has my full, unwilling attention. It’s that something that had caressed me into verbosity in his bedroom. His scent. I can only smell _him_. It suddenly occurs to me that this place must be responsible for his scent, his green scent. The scent of growth, the scent of awakening.

I’m not making sense.

My body is taking over.

I want him in my mouth. The thought is sudden and it unnerves me how his presence is magnified in all this moisture. It’s buffeting me, making me feel dizzy under the blows.

He isn’t helping. His mouth is on me and so are his hands.

My body isn’t helping. All I want is his tongue in my mouth and mine in his. I’m hard against him. I have him pulled to me, pressed to me. I’m sucking on his lips. My mouth is over his. My tongue is in his mouth.

I can hear echoes, echoes of wet mouths going at each other. I can’t get enough of him, his wet suppleness. His hand is on my ass, squeezing me. I follow his lead. I get my hand on his rear. His ass is firm. It fits nicely in my grasp. He has an ass that was meant for grabbing...by my hands.

He breaks away. He’s moving on, bringing me to the next step of this salacious tour.

I’d already discarded some of my clothing in his bedroom and now he’s relieving me of the remaining articles.

Everything is silent except for the intermittent sound of trickling water and the muffled noise of my clothes falling to the tiles.

He’s efficient. Everything is off without him saying a word. He just gestured for me to go first, to walk and get into the water. Chivalry with a seedy intent.

Apparently, I’m a new slave to decorum, because I’m doing what he wants when he wants. He’s gotten me into the water. It’s hot and I just walked in without wincing.

He’s parked himself at the edge of the bath, the part that is tiled and not bordered by rocks. I’m standing in front of him. He’d pulled off his briefs as I entered the water, and now he’s just sitting with his cock pointing up at a 45 degree angle.

He doesn’t say anything as he places his hand on his cock.

It’s sick and strangely erotic to watch him touch himself. It isn’t long before I want to touch him as well, to help him go from pink to rose as far as the steam will allow me to see, to help him go harder and purple down below. The desire must be on my face because he’s reaching out to me. He takes my hand. He places it where his hand had recently been. He keeps his hand over mine and shows me what he wants. He guides my hand over his length and, when I move without his urging, he takes his hand away.

His voice is low, a whisper. “Close your hand tighter.”

Fevered instructions. I go along and do as he says. “Move...upward and rotate--” He just gasped. “Just like that at the--”

“Top,” I murmur for him. For the moment, he’s beyond speaking. I watch his face, his lips, and then his chin as he looks upward. His hands are on the ridge of the bath. He’s bracing himself on them, moving, thrusting into my hand.

He just pulsed in my grasp. He pushes my hand away. “Further into the water.” Another whisper that sounded forbidden. I back up, farther into the bath. He joins me. He’s in front of me, just one step from being on me, against me. I know what he wants. I resume where we left off. I take him into my hand.

He’s still trying to instruct me. I tell him to shut up. But the order is not harsh; it’s just a verbalization of my frustration. I know what I’m doing. I can tell what works just by his breathing, just by the sounds escaping him as he thrusts.

But I’m disturbed.

I never realized that I was so easily stimulated, aurally. I’m trying to quiet him. He’s not loud, but his noises...they’re getting to me. His panting...the way he murmurs my name. It sounds like he’s half apologizing. The other half...I don’t know what it means.

“Quiet.” It’s the best I come up with. The heat is getting to me. He’s getting to me.

His lips are on my shoulder. I feel his teeth. He’s not biting hard, just trying to shut himself up. The way he’s acting...it’s as though he hasn’t been touched this way in a while. Or, maybe it’s...the fact that I have him and...want—

“Heero...stop...”

He’s about to come and he’s still a control freak. I do that twisting thing he likes and it’s all over for him. He just convulsed and I do something I think he would do. I bring my free hand to his face, but I’m not caressing him. I’m lifting his chin. I want to see his face as he comes. I watch him resist. It’s pointless, but entertaining. He looks deceived and slapped, as though he was led astray and then struck by someone he trusted. It’s startled embarrassment that is written all over him. His eyes are wide. His cheeks are aflame. His mouth is open. I watch him close his eyes. He’s still pulsing in my hand, in aftershocks.

But I haven’t incapacitated him with pleasure.

I feel his hand on my cock. He opens his eyes. His fingers are tight around me. Blue-green and suddenly perceptive...those are his eyes as he begins to stroke me. I watch his mouth.

My hand falls from his chin.

“Why won’t you...why haven’t you...”

His hold on me is tight. It’s like I’m penetrating a virgin. He’s bargaining with pressure.

My gaze rises. He’s looking right at me. “It’s not difficult....”

My head is swimming. I’m in drone mode. “Not difficult?”

His hand is slowly moving up and down my cock. “To call me by my name....” His grip is slightly tighter. “Have you ever...”

“Have I ever...?”

He’s leaning into me, licking the beaded water off me, taking his tongue to my neck. He doesn’t say anymore.

He’s pulling my hair, lightly, with the other hand, causing my head to go back. He’s sucking on my Adam’s apple. For him, my neck is a never-ending feast.

Down below, his hand is working me, alternating between going hard and fast and slow and torturous.

All I am is a collection of eager flesh that wants to fuck his hand, but he’s being difficult. He’s ignoring me.

He keeps at it, tormenting me, going unnecessarily slow...leaving me wanting and desperate...despite what escapes my lips, despite the threat I just made.

I feel him moving away. I’m out of his grip. His mouth is gone. It’s not on my lips, or my shoulders, or my neck. The realization is slow as I feel him snaking around me, as I feel his erection moving against the outside of my thigh, as I lose sight of him.

He was buying himself time, waiting till he was capable of getting hard again to sneak behind me. Now, I’m too dazed, hot, and aroused to be entirely repulsed by what he’s attempting. He’s lulling me into complacency with the things he’s whispering.

“I’ve read about this.”

Read?

“One finger...with all this lubrication...”

Lubrication? Water...

“Will be fine...”

His hand is back on my cock. He’s stroking me with one hand and spreading my buttocks with the other.

He’s taking advantage of me, and I’m letting him.

I feel his finger tracing around my rim, slowly, with care. I hear him. His breathing is slightly heavier. He leaves the area. He’s stroking my balls from behind. He takes that roaming finger of his and runs it on the skin just behind them. And I feel it, in the heated water, this sensation working up my shaft. It feels the same way it does when I’m just about to come. A secret spot. He’s found it, but he doesn’t abuse it; he simply uses it to his advantage.

He’s still stroking that spot. He’s listening to me. I can tell. His finger is moving upward. Finally, I feel him probing me. The pressure of his other hand on my cock has increased. He’s stroking just the head. His fingers are tight around there...moving up and down, making me pop in and out of the created nest, making my body believe that I’m penetrating when I’m about to be. He’s distracting me, using pleasure from the front to make me willing at the back.

He’s moving behind me and I can’t stop him. Don’t want to. I can’t keep my eyes open. My hands are shaking. I’m just getting more and more swollen in his grasp. He took his finger away. He’s got two in me now.

His hand is still teasing the head of my cock. He’s distracting me from the slight discomfort. Soon, there isn’t any.

When I’m finally edging against his fingers, he takes them away. He’s moving again.

His hand is still tantalizing me with strokes, and his hardness is there, between my buttocks. The head of his cock is touching my balls. It’s wrong. What he’s doing is wrong. With one arm, he’s embracing me from behind. His chin is on my shoulder. He’s looking over it; he has to be. He’s calm, in the water, listening to the water lap around me as I move in his grasp, as I move against him. There’s something else in me...pulling the strings, making me move without my cognition. It’s something that likes the feel of his cock between my legs...something that likes the head of his cock rubbing at my balls...something that likes to have me partially spread for him...and willing.

His lips are on my ear lobe as he says, “The first time I saw you...I thought of doing this.”

I heard him. His words are pushing me farther...

He’s sucking on my earlobe.

He’s killing me.

He’s pushing farther, physically. I feel him moving behind me. He’s causing me to bend over, slightly and slowly. He’s probably a centimeter from penetrating me and, for a brief second, I almost want him to.

But I can’t catch my breath.

I’m pulsing down below. I’m heavy.

Everything is too hot. I’m being swallowed. He’s leaning on me...but almost against his will. Something isn’t right.

Coming in this water...it’s... it’s... I can’t --

I think I blacked out. No. I know I blacked out.

I’m wet, on the tiles, and coughing up water.

My ass hurts. It’s not the inner part. My anal virginity is still intact. It’s the outer meat that’s irritated. As I look around, I can guess what happened. He must have pulled me out of the water and then grabbed me from under my arms and dragged me to where the cooler air was. He got me from the pool to here, with my ass skidding across the tiles. He didn’t let my dead weight or the wear and tear on my ass get in his way. Gratefulness fails to settle in.

There’s still some water in my nose; it’s draining into my throat as I lean back against him. I didn’t realize it until just now, but my head is in his lap. I look up at him and am greeted with an eyesore.

He looks like shit. He’s lobster red and is trying to catch his breath. Hauling me out damn near killed him, but he’s to blame and he knows it.

It takes him a while to pull himself together. He looks self-conscious as he says, “We’re not supposed to stay in there for longer than ...and...with what we were doing...but...I thought--”

“You thought we were invulnerable. You’re dense.” I was just coughing up water and now I can’t shut myself up.

He looks grateful. He doesn’t have to be apologetic. “I never thanked you for your intervention.”

It takes me a second to realize that he’s referring to my opportune paper drop, the drop that prevented his father from finding out about his previously broken arm.

“The problem is...I should never need anyone’s intervention.”

He’s serious. He sounds slightly testy.

“I’m sure you heard more than you needed, more than I wanted.”

The realization is slow, but wanted. He was on to my extended eavesdropping. It explains most of his reaction to me in the days afterwards. He was embarrassed and pissed. Instead of telling me off, he chose to blow me off. Then grabbing him in his office with the cameras going... Bad luck mixed with idiocy kept me from having him sooner. I keep forgetting how bad my luck is. My tender ass reminds how bad it is.

His testiness must have passed because now he’s lost in his own words.

He’s talking, filling me in on the details I’d never get from the braid, simply because, from his tone, he hasn’t shared much of it with anyone.

“I’m fine,” I say. I don’t mind staying where I am, with my body on the tiles and my head in his lap. I’m falling asleep. I’m...

“I’ll take you to bed.”

“I’m fine...where I am.”

He goes quiet and I drift off. My mind wanders but I don’t quite lose consciousness.

There’s a half an hour of quiet. I’m not sure how he’s able to sit there with the weight of my head in his lap and nothing at his back to support him. He hasn’t complained nor has he moved enough to alter my position. But he starts talking. His voice is low, a whisper.

Part 18a