Dark Soul Vol. 2 (2 page)

“No. And I don’t anticipate finding any, either.” Gianbattista inhaled deeply. “If I did find somebody, he’d have to have your kind of maturity . . . and few boys do.”

The two-hundred-year-old soul.
Maybe he shouldn’t have brought it up again. Just petty vengeance for Gianbattista dumping him, when they’d been headed toward separation for months—well, okay, a year. All Gianbattista had done was finally sever the last thread, much like slowly prying open the fingers of a man dangling from a cliff. Agonizing struggle with an inevitable outcome. “But right now . . . you miss me.”

“Of course I do. I’ve always missed you, whether you went to fight a war or fuck a stranger in some back alley.”

Silvio closed his eyes, imagined the villa, the darkness so soothing there, nights that were never fully dark because of the stars in the sky.

He’d never been able to get over the fact that there were so many
stars
out there. “I miss you, too, Battista.”

“I’m right here.” The conspirator’s voice, the lover’s voice that whispered all the dirty things he craved to hear. Gianbattista could find a replacement so easily. Hell, thousands of underage-looking twinks were ready to do whatever it took—for the money, or because Gianbattista was gorgeous and the most attentive lover any man could want—charming, extremely educated, and often very funny.

“Yeah, so am I.” Silvio ran a hand over his belly up to his chest, willing it to increase his arousal. “That’s why you called?”

“Many reasons. But mostly to hear your voice.”

Fucking bastard.
Silvio pressed his lips together.

“I can lose your body, but I don’t want to lose the rest. Not all of it, at least. I want to stay close to you.”

You are.
Silvio lifted a leg up, then pulled off his shoes and dropped them. He could still make the most of a fucked-up situation. The tinge of arousal in Gianbattista’s voice fired up his own imagination.

For all his talk of old age—and fuck him for that, fuck him twice and three times for going on and on about it—Battista was patient and controlled as a lover, with plenty of stamina where it counted.

“What else is there to me?”

“Your bravery and your loyalty, your passion for the moment.”

Gianbattista’s voice wrapped him in love and grace and safety when all those were tenuous and illusionary. He didn’t often like to be fooled or played, but with Battista it didn’t matter what was real and fake.

I don’t care as long as you love me.

He’d been just barely eighteen when Battista had warned him that people would always see him as the lesser of them if they appeared anywhere together. He’d either be a killer or a toy, but never a man in his own right—not as long as Battista was close.

“What’s on your mind?” Gianbattista asked.

“Right now I think you still want me.”

“I want to see you happy, Silvio. What are you doing?”

“Trying not to jerk off.”

“Oh, not on my account. Please, go ahead.”

Silvio laughed. “You gonna talk me through it?”

“Get undressed.” The voice, so sensuous, now held that edge of command that made Silvio’s heart constrict with pleasant shock.

“Already got rid of my pants.”

“The shirt, too.”

Silvio straightened long enough to pull his shirt over his head and change hands on the handset. The plastic was sweaty in his fingers.

“Done.”

“Take the glass dildo.”

“Do I get lube this time?”

“Just take it.”

Silvio unwrapped it from its package, ran his fingers along the bulbous head and the thick base. Not exactly a beginner’s tool, but if he’d ever been a beginner, that was so long ago even the memory had faded. “Got it. It’s . . . big.”

“Place it somewhere close you can see it. You have two minutes to get ready.”

Silvio grinned and lay back on the couch, pushed his shirt under his ass and lifted his legs. Now comfortable, one hand playing with his balls, the other stroking himself, all gentle and soft, which failed to really get him going. It felt nice, but he’d need more to get off. He reached over and took a dollop of the lube. He could still make this good for himself. Pain wasn’t the same when he was on his own.

“What are you doing over there?” Silvio asked to break the silence.

“I’m imagining you, listening to how nervous you are.”

“I’m not. Very.” Silvio pushed two slick fingers into himself, canted his hips just so, pushed deeper, and exhaled on the jolt of pleasure. “Shit, that’s good.”

“We’ve barely started.” Gianbattista breathed close to his ear.

“Did you say nipple clamps?”

“I did. Shit.”

“Put them on.”

Silvio reached into the bag, found two of them, and cupped his pec in one hand, pulled on the nipple and rolled it, the sharp pleasure tightening his body. Reluctantly, he opened the teeth of that thing, and even more reluctantly allowed it to close around his nipple. It hurt, but the sensation went right to his cock. “One.”

Gianbattista had often bit him in the nipples when he’d fucked him face to face, and Silvio opened his legs wider before he twisted his free nipple. The first clamp had already heightened the sensitivity on the other side. One wire in his body clearly connected these two— and his lungs and cock. Grimacing, he released the clamp around the second nipple, and arched with the discomfort. “I want you inside .

. . Battista.”

“I’m right here. Just a breath away. How are you feeling?”

“I’m hard. God, I’m hard. How do you do that?”

“You’re doing most of the work.” Gianbattista’s voice was so fond and tender that Silvio imagined he’d stroke his cheek if he were here.

“Take the dildo. Suck on it so I can hear you.”

“Fuck.”

“Later.”

Silvio reached over and took the dildo. The glass was cool and unyielding in his hand, smooth, substantial like a weapon. He opened his lips and teeth, pretended somebody was pushing the dildo into his mouth, and tilted his head back as if getting ready to deep throat.

Not in a million years would it go that far. He ran his tongue around the bulb that would soon be inside him and put pressure where he craved it, then along the length that would take it there. He allowed his teeth to clink against the glass, then closed his lips around the top, sucking like he meant it. And shit, but that turned him on more.

“Keep doing that.” The strain in Battista’s voice was maybe due to the concentration it took to imagine Silvio’s lips around his cock, which by contrast was very much yielding, hot and not as smooth.

Gianbattista certainly loved a good blowjob. “Is it big?”

“Enormous,” Silvio said, pul ing the dildo free just long enough to speak. “Tastes of you.” He sucked on the glass, deliberately making wet and slurpy sounds, and caught himself moaning. No response from beyond the electric void, but he knew he had Battista’s full attention.

“Put it inside. Slowly. Tell me how it feels. Tell me everything.”

Silvio lowered the dildo to his ass, positioned it. “I’m on my back.

One leg up on the back of the couch, the other on the seat. I’m wide open.” He pushed, teasing the muscle with small movements. “The head’s big, but I’m . . . going slow.”

“You want to do it faster, don’t you?”

“Yeah. I like the stretch.”

“Ask me.”

Silvio laughed, but he knew Gianbattista meant it, still got a kick out of ordering him. “Can I push this big dildo inside now? Please?”

“Why would you want to do that?”

“I want cock and that’s the closest . . . fucking thing.”

“Lippy.”

“Battista, please.”

“Okay. Push it deep.”

Silvio didn’t confirm, too eager to feel it al . And oh, yeah, this was one of the few toys that actually lived up to the promise. The big head stretched him, the lube didn’t take all of the burn; it was perfect. Thick, hefty, right there. Silvio groaned, arched, pushed it deeper, relishing the sense of being filled with something. Anything, really. Man or toy didn’t matter right fucking now. The pleasure was enormous and melted everything else away. “Oh God, good choice .

. .”

Battista chuckled. “Feels good, Silvio?”

“Only . . . thing better . . . if you bent me in half . . .”

“Exposing you. Making you helpless. I could tie you up.”

A shiver of primal panic at the idea. But Battista was safe. He could do that. He’d still be safe. “Tie my legs so I can’t close them . . .

can’t stretch them. Can’t do anything but watch you fuck me.”

“I’d tie them to your hands, or put a spreader bar between them.”

“. . .Yeah.” His voice sounded strangled. No thought of power, control, revenge now. Right now, he was caught up in the feeling, which was so much more intense for sharing it with Battista. Battista heightened the pleasure, giving him so much of it with just his voice and presence, even so far away.

“Keep them open.”

“Gotcha.” Silvio spread his legs wider but kept his eyes closed, his attention divided between his sense of touch and his sense of hearing.

“I’m moving . . . it a bit. Just a little.” Hand flat against the base, touch slick, he only stirred the head inside, getting used to it. “You . . . your mouth would make it perfect.”

“Blowing you?”

“Yes.” Silvio groaned. “Like you did back . . . back then.”

“You were never innocent, Silvio, but that was the closest you ever got. You didn’t really know what you wanted, only that you wanted it. Watching you awaken was the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen.”

“I need more.”

“Then fuck yourself, slowly.”

Silvio choked on his next breath, but obeyed. Pleasure raced and built and spiked not just in his ass; it flared over into his cock and tightened his balls, wound every muscle in his body tight and tighter.

“Showing you pleasure like that, touching and kissing you everywhere—is still part of my fantasies. I’ll never forget turning you into a lover.”

“Battista.” Silvio all but pulled the dildo free and pushed it back in, hard, merciless, but as slowly as he could make it, enjoying the breaching feeling as much as the pressure against the spot inside and the pleasure that raced up to the roots of his hair.

“Maybe it’s because they say you never forget the first one. I sometimes like to think that whoever you fucked after me, there’ll still be an echo of me in your bed. Or wherever you take them.”

“You’re always there.”

“Good. You can go faster.”

“I’ll come . . .”

“I know.” Mild, gentle, generous Battista.

Silvio gritted his teeth, slammed the dildo back in, moving fast now, rocking against the thrusts. His arm ached; his wrist took the strain from the awkward position as he fucked himself in earnest.

He groaned into the phone, felt the plastic moisten from his breath, knew it would turn Battista on to hear him, imagine him, an ocean away, the only thing connecting them now their voices, Silvio all but incoherent.

“You’re beautiful,” Battista said.

Silvio squeezed his eyes shut, rapt in the pleasure, wholly taken with the lust and need and those words of approval. He got closer fast, brushing orgasm a few times, then sped himself up until he had to drop the phone on his chest and jerk off.

The pleasure was a fierce flash of tensing, shuddering muscles and broken groans, arching as he shot his load over his stomach up to his pecs. He kept the dildo inside, muscles clenching around it, and continued to stroke for a few more moments before he relaxed back into the couch.

He wiped his hand on his thigh and gathered up the phone.

Battista’s breathing was erratic, then choked, and while he usually came in complete silence, Silvio could read the man’s breath like his own. “Wish I were there to suck you dry, Battista. I’d take everything, swallow every drop.”

No answer but for heavy breathing. Silvio wanted to reach out and touch that fragile moment that couldn’t and didn’t last. Instead, he opened the nipple clamps and tossed them in the bag, the vile little fuckers. He rubbed his nipples until the bite turned into a throb.

Finally, Battista’s breath deepened again, and Silvio smiled. “Was it good for you?”

A sated chuckle. “Best one I’ve had in two weeks.”

“You’re welcome.” Silvio pulled the dildo out, because hell, it was way too big to stay in even for a few moments now, and held it in his hand, lube-slick and body-warm. He dropped his leg from the back of the couch and straightened the other one, relishing the relaxation.

“Keep me awake.”

“You can sleep, Silvio.”

“No. It’s too early.” Silvio yawned and reached for his boxers to mop up the semen. “Stefano said he’d come round later.”

“You think he’s going to make his move?”

“We’re going to talk about his Russian problem.” Silvio yawned again, not giving a fuck about any Russians right now. “The rest has time.”

“You
are
getting better at the hunt and the chase,” Battista said.

Silvio laughed. “I want him and I’ll have him, but maybe not tonight. Why are you asking?”

“Oh, I’m just curious how it plays out. I’ve told him enough about you to make things interesting for you, otherwise the poor man wouldn’t know what hit him.”

“Really?” Silvio huffed.
He was quite well prepared when he shoved
a gun up my ass.
“So you’re warning my prospects now?”

“Just as a service to you.” Battista chuckled warmly. “You can’t stand boredom.”

“True.” Silvio considered getting up, but right now, being stretched out on the couch was perfect, safe, as relaxed and sated as he could get. He imagined Battista was just in the next room, fixing drinks or cleaning up. “Is that how we’ll have sex now?”

“What do you mean?”

“Just asking. I bet you were looking at that painting
.” That
goddamned painting that shows me how I was, how I still am deep
inside: a thing of shadows.
“Pretending I’m still your
sweet boy
.”
When
I’m a man, or trying hard to become one.
Then again, if he was old enough to kill and fuck, he was clearly old enough to be a man, wasn’t he?

Battista had fallen silent again, but this time, that silence echoed with dissonance.