It's Not Shakespeare (10 page)

“Do you want me to fuck you or not?” he whispered, and in response, Rafael spurted a little on his hand.

James kept his grip on Rafael’s cock and adjusted his body so he could whisper in Rafael’s ear, teasing the lobe and the shell of it with his tongue.

“Was that a yes?” he whispered, and Rafael’s chuckle was a little strained.

“God yes, but hurry!”

James fumbled in his drawer, but not for long. In a moment, he had two condoms, and he handed one to Rafael while he made quick work of his own. He also had lube, and as he sat up on his knees with the tube in his hand, Rafael made to turn over on his stomach.

“No,” James muttered. “Stay on your back, spread your knees, hold them up to your chest if you need to. I want to see your face.”

Rafael whimpered, and his cock twitched, probably spurting a little bit of pre-come, just at James’s words.

“Okay,” he whispered, completely submissive. “Okay.” He pulled his knees back with his hands, and there he was, exposed, vulnerable, and James could have played with his body all day.

He wanted to taste—he used to be able to give an
awesome
rim job—he’d been proud of that—but he wasn’t sure if Rafael was up to the teasing. James knew that taking the time to tongue that little pucker until Rafael begged for it might actually lead to James spilling himself while grinding on the bed as opposed to being buried inside Rafael’s body, so he contented himself with a quick swipe of the tongue, just enough to make Rafael’s hips come off the bed, before coating his fingers with lubricant and probing gently, then stretching like a gentleman to make Rafael ready for him. Rafael groaned, gibbered, pleaded, and James sucked his erection down again, making his lips slick to glide over the condom. And Rafael lost his mind, spurting pre-come into the condom where it was hot inside Jimmy’s mouth.

“Ah, come on, Jimmy,
please….
”

James couldn’t hold back—not even a little—and a part of him would have been bitter that one of the few things he thought he could do well went flying straight out the window, except Rafael was begging him, by
name,
for something that James and only James could give him, and James wouldn’t trade that for any amount of prowess or finesse or ego points the world could bestow on a lover.

He pushed himself up and moved to cover Rafael’s body with his own, reaching down to kiss him first, furiously, tugging on Rafael’s lower lip with his teeth as he pulled back. Then he positioned himself at Rafael’s entrance and watched as his head tilted back and his eyes closed and his expression twisted almost to pain, he wanted so badly.

“Auuughh!” he cried when James paused.

“Say my name,” James begged, and Rafael opened his eyes then, surprising them both.

“James. Please, James,” he moaned, and James thrust into him urgently, and then found he was lost, completely lost in desire, in wanting, in
craving.
Rafael cried out, needing just like he did, and James answered, pounding, his hips jerking, the slap of their skin loud in the day-lit brightness spilling in through the shades.

James reared back and pulled Rafael’s legs so they were over his shoulders and kept pistoning as fast as he could, and Rafael clenched at the sheets and made little sobbing shrieks while James fucked him furiously, needing to plunge in and out far more urgently than he needed to breathe.

James was going to climax—he could feel it, in the base of his spine, in his balls, which were tightened to the point of pain. He was going to climax and Rafael hadn’t yet, and he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t. He refused.

“Rafael, baby, stroke yourself.”

“Nnnnggg….”

“Come on, grab it and stroke it, squeeze it, work it….”

The sight of those strong brown fingers, with their nails cut down to the quick, wrapping around that proud curved cock and stroking slowly, in spite of the speed of James’s thrusting hips…. Oh damn….

“You gonna come?”

“
Not. Yet.
”

“C’mon, James, c’mon….”

“Want to feel you around me,” James begged, and then he reached down, stroking Rafael’s chest, wanting to feel that too, to know the man he was inside was being pleased and loved it, loved the act, loved the pleasure, as much as James did.

Rafael’s other hand, the one not stroking himself, clasped at James’s wrist, and then tightened. Rafael’s whole body shuddered, his ass tightening around James so hard, for a moment James thought he
couldn’t
come, before Rafael’s body relaxed just long enough to make sure that James
would.

James’s entire body washed in the freezing fire, charging from his balls up his spine and back again, as he emptied himself, his vision going black behind his tightly closed eyes.

He collapsed forward, keeping some of his weight on his forearms, and pumped convulsively for a few moments as the aftershocks coursed through both of them, and Rafael’s rough breathing told him that he wasn’t in any better shape at all.

He kissed Rafael’s temple then, nuzzled his cheek, and then Rafael turned his head and caught his mouth. The kiss was tender and soft, and Rafael wrapped those strong arms around James’s shoulders and embraced, clung for dear life, and James relaxed against him, even if it meant sliding out.

He rolled to the side a little and propped one arm up over his head, and Rafael turned to him, searching his face with those luminous, liquid black eyes.

“You do everything you needed?” he asked, and James laughed a little and shook his head.

“Oh, God, Rafael. I want to give you so much more.”

Rafael raised his hand to James’s face, stroking his clean-shaven jaw and keeping those serious eyes locked with James’s.

“You don’t know what you’ve given me already, do you?”

James smiled again and leaned into that touch, closing his eyes against that seriousness. He felt so good. Happy. Beautiful. Young.

“Not half of what you’ve given me,” he murmured. “Trust me, Rafael. I could make love to you for years and years, and I’d still be in your debt.”

“Pretty words,” Rafael murmured, and James opened his eyes again.

“Pretty man,” he said softly.

“You fuck a pretty man,” Rafael answered. “You just made love to me.”

James grunted. God, he was quick. Too much, too far, too fast, too late to put on the brakes.

“You make love to a beautiful man, with a beautiful soul,” James told him, figuring maybe Rafael might be the one man in the world who wouldn’t quail from a little bit of romance with his sex.

Rafael closed those all-seeing eyes, and that lean finger—smelling a little bit like motor oil, James noted, smiling inwardly—rubbed at his lips.

“Then I got some more making love to do,” he said.

James’s smile grew, and he kissed Rafael’s finger with all the gentleness he had. “Yeah. Yeah. Both of us. We’ve both got some to do. Right?”

“Right.”

James pushed himself up on his elbow then and remembered the part of the evening that he’d forgotten.

“But first dessert, okay?”

Rafael started to laugh, his knees drawn up over his belly, his head thrown back, pure joy rolling through the room. “I thought that
was
dessert, Jimmy! What, you meant something with sugar and sweets and everything?”

James grinned. “Yeah. Stay right there. It’s strawberries and chocolate and whipped cream. We can eat them in bed!”

Rafael sobered and stopped him with a hand on his arm as he went to slide out of bed.

“Okay. But not right now. Right now, stay here some more and say pretty things to me, Jimmy. I’ll say them back. I think maybe we both really need to hear.”

A sudden, terrible feeling of vulnerability assailed James, and he almost hurt Rafael’s feelings forever by running away and grabbing dessert. But he remembered Rafael, spread out for him, vulnerable, willing, and he couldn’t do that. God, who knew that pride could be tied up in strawberries, chocolate, and cream?

He relaxed his body back into the bed and rested his head on his arm.

“Just so you know,” he said quietly, meaning it, “I could say pretty things to you all night.”

Rafael’s smile brightened the twilight that was starting to pervade the room as the sun set. “Me too. That’s okay. You just told me we can break for dessert.”

Chapter 5

Brown and White

H
E
SPENT
Easter Sunday with Rafael’s family.

The two weeks before that, they were inseparable, and he worried a little. It wasn’t always easy, being together. There were moments when that place where two people meet seemed over their heads and far away.

He tried not to cringe every time Rafael left the Charger in front of his house. He couldn’t explain it—it was nothing he’d ever thought of before—but suddenly having that bright electric-blue paean to muscle cars seemed damned ostentatious for his bland little suburb of college-educated adults. Even the families had placid minivans or SUVs. The thing was
loud,
too, but every time he thought to say something, he could actually
hear
the uptight prig in his voice with his first half whine.

Eeen… ffff…. Yeah. Rafael, could you maybe get a car you don’t love so much so I can satisfy my need to be a stuck-up white man? Yeah. That doesn’t make me too much of an asshole, does it?

Asked and answered, right? So James made an effort then, not just to
tolerate
the car, but to
love
the car.

One day Rafael drove him to work in the morning and came back to pick him up in the afternoon. James eyed the car with an open mind, running his hand over the well-waxed paintjob and feeling the metal warmed under the spring sun. It wasn’t inherently evil, was it? No, it was just put together in a way that made it powerful and strong. That wasn’t bad, right?

“You want to drive it, baby?” Rafael asked with a smile, and James caught his breath.

“Really?”

“Yeah, really! It’s a car, not an eggshell! Come on!” And with that, the keys went up in that shiny, jingly arc, and no one was more surprised than James when he caught them. He walked around the back, crossing by Rafael to get there, and he handed off Marlowe’s lead. As their fingers brushed, he impulsively leaned forward and rubbed his lips against Rafael’s, who was so surprised his mouth opened, and James made the kiss hot, deep, and dirty. He pulled away and Rafael blushed.

“Be careful, Mr. Professor. You don’t know who might be watching.”

James grinned, trying very, very hard to be brave. “I know exactly who’s watching. My douchebag department head is right over there. Turn and wave to him, okay?”

Rafael’s eyes grew wide and bright, but still he joined James in a friendly, unselfconscious wave in the direction of Lee Cresswell, who was climbing into his ginormous urban Humvee. Lee was still dressed in his suit (when even James had gone to khakis and a polo shirt, given the eighty-degree April days) and his thinning hair was spiked heavily with gel so it didn’t look like middle age was catching up with it. About the only thing James had ever liked about Lee was his wife, who was charming and kind—and who was probably the only reason James had never confronted Lee himself about the drunken blow-job he’d gotten at the staff mixer.

Because as sure as water was wet and the sky was blue, Lee hadn’t really liked him from that night on. James wondered what in the hell he could have said to the man—because as little as he remembered about that night, “I’d rather you not suck my cock!” didn’t seem to be on the list.

Lee took a deep, long-suffering breath and then climbed down out of the Humvee and walked over toward the Charger.

“You know, there’s a rule prohibiting faculty dating students.” Well, how do you like that? Not even a “Hello!” or “How are you?”

“He’s not a student,” James said, catching Rafael’s bright-eyed take on what he’d probably call “the coming smackdown.” Suddenly, standing there in the spring sunshine with the keys to this really powerful young-man’s car, made him feel like he could do
anything.

“Then what is he doing here?” Lee asked, without even giving Rafael a sideways look.

“Why don’t you ask him?” He looked at Rafael and shrugged. Rafael shrugged back.

“What are you doing here?” Lee turned to him impatiently, and Rafael allowed some of his disdain to show.

“Wondering why you on my boyfriend’s case, mostly,” he said. “You don’t start nothing, there won’t be nothing, you feel me?”

There was a sudden heat in Lee’s eyes, and James glared at Rafael, who was suddenly flustered enough to say, “Not that way. Jesus, don’t even look at me like that!”

James tried not to snicker. “Lee, he’s not a student, and we were just leaving. Give my regards to Sondra, okay?”

“Leave my wife out of this!” Lee snapped, and James blinked hard.

“I thought I was. Can we go now?”

“You just need to watch yourself,” Lee growled, moving in. “Tenure is not an iron-clad guarantee. You know that, don’t you?”

“What did I ever do to you?” Seriously—James really couldn’t remember.

“You….” Lee floundered for a moment and then looked furtively at Rafael. “Are you telling me you honestly don’t remember?”

James tried to remember how to brazen things out like a cocky bird instead of tucking his head between his shoulders like a turtle. “Not really. But whatever it is I did that pissed you off, I swear I apologize, okay?”

Lee snorted, shook his head, and simply walked away. James watched him go, his heart pounding, and then wondered what in the hell he’d ever been afraid of.

Still musing, he clicked the lock and pulled open the heavy door, wondering when the squeak that came with it had become comforting. He settled himself into the black leather seat, did the oddly styled lap belt (Rafael called it a “quick-release,” but usually, James was so busy trying to figure out how the damned thing worked that quick was the farthest thing from his mind), and then waited for Rafael and Marlowe to get settled.

“So, what did you do to him?” Rafael asked as he did his seatbelt, and James grimaced.