Title: Going Away (Beware! RPS!) Part 1 of "The Summer of '03"
Author: Janet F. Caires-Lesgold
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Archive: Mailing list archives only--others please ask permission!
Category: Romance, angst
Timeframe: Late spring 2003 - same universe as before
Rating: NC-17 for language and m/m sexual behavior
Summary: A farewell gift
DISCLAIMER: This story is just for the entertainment of my online friends and myself, not for any profit. It is pure fantasy and does not intend to reflect on the actual behavior or personalities of the people named herein. Please do not sue me for my little bit of fun!
DEDICATION: For Tiff and all of the loving boys
COPYRIGHT: (C) October 6, 2003, Janet F. Caires-Lesgold, firstname.lastname@example.org
Please don't redistribute or alter this story in any way without the express permission of the author. Thank you very much.
You are flat on your back, gasping for breath, free hand scrabbling weakly at the sheets, and cock dripping onto your sweaty stomach. The reason for this extreme condition is the slow, tantalizing dance of a beautiful mouth on the inside of your left wrist. Tom's tongue swirls a wet spiral on the same spot over and over, and all you can do is moan.
"Oh, god..." you say at last, but you close off the consonant suddenly when sharp white teeth bite down carefully on your thin skin. Not a moment too soon, his large, strong hand grips and strokes you firmly, and your hips jump off the bed as you explode all over your belly.
You don't think you pass out, but it distinctly feels like you wake up to Tom's voice shushing you and murmuring, "It's okay, baby..." Opening your eyes, you find his brilliant smile beaming at you as he pets your arm with his thumb and soothes your spent organ with the other hand. "I love that spot," he purrs once he catches your eye.
"Me, too," you groan, letting your lips fall open so he can suck on your tongue thoroughly. When he breaks the kiss to reach for tissues, you add, "Jeez, I'm gonna miss this..."
"What? Scaring my dogs? Annoying your neighbors? Making our trailers vibrate so hard Sam put that stupid bumper sticker on yours?"
"Kristin still doesn't 'get' that one, does she?" you ask, wiping away the last of your orgasm and settling back to lie in Tom's arms.
"Nope," he chortles, then lets his voice rise into falsetto. "'If this van's a'rockin', don't come a'knockin'?' You mean I should stay away if I hear you guys singing in here?"
"She probably should, you know. I think the last time you cued up 'Crash Into Me' on the karaoke machine, you were buck naked."
"It added to the performance. 'Bare-boned', and all, you know..." He waits a full second before dissolving into post-coital snickers.
As your shared laughter dies down, a peaceful but loaded silence falls over your bed. At last, you return to the topic that you'd started to broach earlier. "Damn, I'm going to miss you."
Tom nuzzles the peach fuzz on the top of your head. "We're only gonna be apart for a couple of months, Michael, but I know what you mean... It's been a helluva year, hasn't it?"
Tipping your head back, you capture his lips in a kiss briefly. "All because of you, beautiful. None of this would have happened if you hadn't put the idea out there..."
"You made me brave, gorgeous."
This time you have to chuckle. "You made yourself drunk. You wouldn't have had the nerve to bring it up if you'd been sober. But you did, for which I am eternally grateful. Well, for that, and for Jamie's agreeing to look the other way..."
He blinks his green eyes slowly, like a contented tiger. "Yeah--she's been so good about not asking about some of my late nights, or making herself scarce sometimes so you and I could be together. It will be weird with nobody around but her..."
You cut him off. "'Nobody'? You're going to be making a movie! I bet you'll value whatever time alone you get in that circus!"
"True," he grins. "You know all about that world, while I'm practically a beginner. I'm going to miss having you around to keep me company. I wish you could be there to hold my hand."
"Among other things?" you add slyly, making his cheeks pinken just a little. "You'll be fine, Tom. I have a great deal of faith in your talents."
"You've taught me a lot, for which I am grateful. What'll I do when I need to hear what you think?"
"You'll call me. I'll listen and try to help, any time of the day or night. It's not like I have anything else on my calendar."
He leans up on one elbow to look at you wryly. "Which I'm sure you have your publicist working on around the clock even as we speak..."
Rolling onto your side toward him, you mime writing with a pencil and say in your most feminine voice, "'Now Michael, as soon as you finish having sex with Tom, we have to get you on a plane to L.A....'"
"You deserve the summer off. Why no road trips with your friends?"
"I'm cheap. They'll pay for me to show up places and smile. Sounds like an easy gig."
With a dubious expression, he chides, "Be careful who you smile at, Michael. You know about the gossipmongers in the press..."
A careful caress of your thumb along his perfect cheekbone makes his baleful eyes slip shut and, if your touch conveys what's in your heart, quiets his worries about losing you. "I'll behave myself, sugar. I love you, and I would hope that we could still be together like this no matter what. Is that okay with you?"
Grabbing your wrist, he presses a kiss into your palm and smiles at you sexily. "That reminds me. I got you something." You appreciate the rear view as he climbs out of bed to rifle the pockets of his traditional tan corduroy sport coat lying under the pile of clothes he'd worn to the cast party. He returns with a white pasteboard box, which he places in your hands as you rise to a sitting position.
The gift is black leather and folded into a nearly three-inch square. "A wallet?"
"Sort of." Removing the object from its box, he unfolds it to reveal a nylon zipper running its length and adjustable velcro on its ends. "I know I certainly appreciate the smooth line of your ass in some of those pants you wear. You can stick your I.D. and a little cash in here if you don't want a lumpy wallet in your pocket."
"And do exactly what with it?"
A very wicked smile suffuses Tom's face as he picks up your left hand again and places a tongued kiss on the erogenous zone on the inside of your arm. Pulling away, he wraps the leather strap around the spot he just licked and presses the velcro snugly closed. "That."
When he releases your arm, wearing its new wristband, you twist it to get the full view of the object, pausing when you note the red mouth with lolling tongue adorning its outside. "A Rolling Stones logo? I love them, but..."
"That's to remind you that it's from me," he whispers, clutching your hand tight.
The almost fierce glint in his eyes and the implications of his gift send a fresh surge of blood to your cock. "It'll be like your mouth is right there when I wear this, won't it?"
"I can't ask you to save yourself for me, Michael. I already belong to someone else, and there's no reason you shouldn't go have fun during the months we're apart. All I want is this part of you--this wonderful spot on your wrist that makes you curl up your toes and whimper like a girl and get hard when I lick it. Can you do that for me? Can you let that part of you belong to me?" His eyes shine with sincerity.
Chuckling a little nervously, you pet the soft leather with your right hand, admiring the red leather mouth that doesn't really remind you of Tom's, but now will be inextricably linked with it in your mind's eye. You swallow carefully, then return his intense gaze. "It's yours, love. Nobody's but yours. I won't take this off for anyone but you..."
"You can take it off in the shower," he teases.
"Provided I'm showering alone?" you counter.
"There is that," he laughs before bending in to kiss you thoroughly once again.
You clutch his shoulders a little desperately as he pulls away. "I don't want to go."
"I'll be right here when you get back."
"You'll call me?"
"Probably just as often as you call me. I love you, Michael."
"I love you, too, but I'd probably better get going soon..."
"I checked with your publicist. There's still time before your flight for me to fuck you again."
"Oh, good," you grin at his fabrication as you lie back on the bed, getting used to how the warm leather feels around your wrist. "It's going to be a long summer."
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