index

Message-ID: <57025asstr$1197983401@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
NNTP-Posting-Date: Tue, 18 Dec 2007 01:26:51 -0600
From: Adrian Mailenna <mrjackboots@gmail.spamfree.com>
Subject: {ASSM} You Can't Go Back to Eden (M/M, drugs, prostitution)
Lines: 368
Date: Tue, 18 Dec 2007 08:10:01 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

<Note to the Mods: I tried to post this about a week ago but it doesn't 
seem to have made it through the spamfilter. If you are rejecting this 
story please email me and let me know.>

This story contains explicit sex between two adult men. Reader 
discretion is advised. Please comply with all applicable legislation.
Please feel free to leave comments in my email (remove the spamfree) or 
at the web copy of this story,

http://www.1000gears.com/fiction/12_you-cant-go-back-to-eden/

---

You Can't Go Back to Eden
   By Adrian Mailenna

I know how to find the nexus of the universe.

If you go out walking, through cold, deserted streets, sometime between 
last call at the bars and last dance at the clubs, you find yourself 
caught in that hazy middle, between not-quite-yesterday and not-quite-
tomorrow, perfectly alone. The rest of the world fades away, until 
nothing exists except you and your thoughts and the next square of 
pavement. You can bring a friend sometimes, a close one and certainly 
never two, and you come out enlightened, somehow, with this zennish sort 
of acceptance and understanding of each other. You can bring a lover, 
too, and that's even better, because it doesn't matter if the world 
tries to keep you apart, because the world doesn't matter, not in there. 
The darkness wraps around you, like a cocoon, cold and warm, lonely and 
deliciously intimate, all at once, and for those fleeting hours, all 
that matters is the way he breathes and the way he talks, the way he 
fits against you, all long, soft-sheathed muscles and gentle, supple 
curves, but most of all the sparkle in his eyes, and the way he tries to 
hide just how much you mean to him, just how much he trusts you with the 
secrets of his life.

I spent almost every night there, with Nicky, back when I could call him 
mine. When he left I spent them there, alone, never trusting the girls 
or boys after him with that delicate, perfect place.

It's the most beautiful place in the world, a little slice of Eden.

I don't know if I can find my way back anymore.

Earlier tonight I was slipping into it, just mulling over my fifth 
breakup in twice as many months. Three years ago Nicky left, three years 
ago he walked off into the darkness, and since then, I couldn't find a 
stable relationship, couldn't care for someone the same way, couldn't 
find someone who cared the same way. It was all very depressing, a slow 
and painful string of failures, building over the hole he'd left in my 
life, and it was nice to find something familiar, someplace to lose 
myself and let it all wash past me. Somewhere between the park where we 
used to walk, and that new club, Oblivion, a shy little voice reached 
out to me, out of an alley, and pulled me back into the world.

A voice reached in and brushed along my thoughts, shy and almost 
girlish. "Hey, mister... cold night, huh?"

"Yeah, pretty cold." You barely have to leave the nexus once you're used 
to this kind of stuff. It just comes out, automatically. You know it. 
The same thing happens when you get hit up for change too often... you 
just shrug and mumble "sorry" before it even registers.

"Can I warm you up? You're kinda cute, so it's just twenty bucks. 
Hundred if I've gotta strip. Two hundred for all night."

What the hell. I'm not proud. Sometimes a cute, slutty little rentboy's 
just what the doctor ordered. Fuck him rough and fuck him stupid, fuck 
him 'till he screams because he means it, fuck him until he comes in 
your hand and sucks it off your fingers. His money's on the nightstand. 
He's gone when you wake up. No worries, no obligations. "Getting kinda 
late... hundred-fifty."

I heard a little sigh, and quiet, pattering footsteps as he started 
walking behind me. "Can I leave early? Most days I can get a couple 
tricks on the six-AM train."

"If I'm done with you, sure." I reached into my jacket, took a swallow 
out of my flask. Jim Beam's a friend of mine, more than I like to say.

He caught up to me and slipped up under my arm, pressed against my side. 
He felt right there, perfect, just beneath my shoulder, warm and 
comfortable in a way I could barely remember. Nobody had felt that good 
in a long time.

Three years, actually.

I turned, just a little, looked down at him.

/Fuck./

----------

My mouth went dry in a heartbeat. I wasn't sure whether to believe my 
eyes, wasn't sure whether I wanted to. I swallowed hard. "Aw, shit, 
Nicky?"

He blinked once, looking up at me, and I saw the recognition flash 
across his face before he turned away, hunching into himself, the way he 
always used to do. "Oh... Kris... Hi, I guess."

I slipped my hand around his waist, pulling him a little closer as I 
stroked his milk-white skin, as soft and creamy-smooth as I remembered 
it. "What happened, Nicky?"

"Just Nick now. Tell you later." He paused for a moment, thinking about 
it. "You can still call me Nicky if you want to."

"We used to talk about everything out here."

"Kris..."

"Yeah. I know. 'salright." I leaned over, pressing a kiss against his 
temple. His scent filled my lungs as I nuzzled into his thick, soft 
hair. He still smelled like almonds, almonds and sweet, clean musk, but 
gritty, intoxicating hints of sex and streets and leather had crept in 
around the edges.

"Anything special you want?"

I shrugged a little, guiding him back home. "I don't know."

The pale light glittered across the deep, cobalt blue of his eyes. "I 
think I do," he murmured.

"Oh?"

"Fuck me like you used to?"

I thought about kissing up his naked spine, about the long, slow hours 
we spent, teasing his body until it would accept mine, about the long, 
slow strokes I used to make him squirm in pleasure, held tight in my 
arms. "Fucking's hardly the right word for it."

He pressed up a little closer, just the way he used to, resting his 
cheek into the pit of my shoulder. "That's why you want it."

My fingers traced the curve of his side, feeling the way his muscles had 
gone strong and hard beneath the softness of his skin. They remembered 
exactly how to hold him, exactly how to guide him forward and tease a 
slow, insistent line down the curve of his belly. He felt better than I 
remembered, even, whimpering as he pressed his hips back against my own. 
I shivered at the rush of memory. "Yeah. Yeah, yeah it is."

I didn't remember the whisper of raw and naked sex in the way he ground 
against me, or the little metal tin he kept in his pocket, packed with a 
little glass-crystal pipe and a baggie of fine, pink powder. He smiled 
up at me, running his fingers through his hair to brush his long, dark 
bangs from his eyes. "I think I'd like that, too," he said, flicking his 
tongue across his lips.

I watched him scoop a little powder into the pipe and hold a match under 
it, until it began to bubble. "What's that?" I asked, watching him suck 
the smoke deep into his lungs. He held it for a moment before he let it 
go in a faint, ashen-grey coil from his lips, watching it drift into 
infinity.

"It's just my Lace," he purred, looking at me through half-lidded eyes.

"Aw, Nicky. You're using?"

He smiled and reached back, over his head, stroking his fingertips along 
my jaw. "I want to enjoy tonight."

----------

For a moment I could believe we'd erased three years in the short walk 
home, when I closed the door and he melted into my arms, the same shy, 
nervously excited boy he'd always been, whispering my name into my neck. 
I held him close, slipping my fingers down his back. From the edge of 
his shirt, cropped high, just below the blades of his shoulders, I felt 
nothing but cool, naked skin beneath my fingers, growing warmer as I 
felt my way down, to the edge of leather slung low and tight across his 
hips. My fingers sat at the pit of his spine; a few inches lower and I 
could cup his rear in my hand. He was dressed like almost any other 
rentboy, raw and patently sexual, but if anything he felt almost 
innocent, naked and vulnerable in those thin, tight clothes.

I held him there, just breathing him in again. "I missed you," I 
whispered.

He stood up on tiptoe, kissing me gingerly on the lips, and offered me 
that shy, amused smile I remembered. "I know." Suddenly he hugged me 
tight, kissing me hard, passionately, hungrily, his lips begging 
silently for my tongue.

It wasn't like any kiss we'd shared before, but I lost myself in the 
moment, falling in love with him all over again. He was perfect, every 
way I felt him. Naked, perfect shoulders and smooth, perfect back, 
rounded, perfect hips and long, perfect thighs, sweet, perfect breath 
and warm, perfect tongue, all melting into a single perfect kiss, a 
single perfect pleasure to sweep away the years.

He stepped back, gasping, pulling me along with him, almost giddy with 
excitement. "Can we take a bath?"

I nodded dumbly as he pulled me along to the bathroom, enchanted by the 
sheer casual sexuality of his motion... and the faint, ghost-grey tattoo 
in the pit of his back, a flower with long, smoky petals, coiling up his 
spine. I hesitated for a moment. This was new.

 "When'd you get the tattoo?"

"About a year ago. Y'like it?" He bent over the edge of the tub, showing 
it off as he turned the water up.

"I don't know yet. It's different."

Standing up again, he turned around and pressed himself against me. "I 
know he likes it," he purred, pressing his belly against the growing 
stiffness in my pants. His arms slipped around my neck as he tossed his 
head, throwing his bangs back away from his eyes. "C'mon, see what else 
he likes." 

My hands crept up his belly, hugging him close as they slipped under the 
slick black fabric of his shirt. "I think he likes all of you," I 
laughed, pulling it up, over his head, tugging it free from the thin, 
pink-leather choker around his neck.

His pants were something out of a wet dream, buttery-soft leather next 
to his delicate, creamy skin, his thighs left half-naked by the long, 
bootlaced sides. He wriggled his hips as I slid them away from him, 
lifting his feet so I could ease the shoes from his tiny, baby-soft 
feet. "And I think I like that." He cupped my hand over his crotch, hard 
and smooth, hairless as a child's.

I kissed him again, trying to hide my surprise.

"You like that too, don't you? My turn now." He giggled, nudging me up 
against the wall, pressing a kiss against my collar. The button slid 
open with a flick of his tongue. I sucked my breath in, delighted, as he 
inched his way lower, only using his hands to slide my jeans away after 
he'd undone them, and nuzzled his cheek against me. "You have the most 
beautiful cock in the world, Kris. You know that? It's such a tasty 
color. Nice and smooth. Clean lines." He flicked his tongue against the 
head, suckling on it for a moment. "Almost too thick to play with." His 
lips slid down a few inches, stretching comfortably tight against me.  
"Almost."

I ran my fingers through his hair, careful not to pull him down, not to 
thrust into the hot, slick pleasures his mouth offered to me. I didn't 
have to. He made wet, sloppy noises as he worked his head up and down my 
length, just barely teasing the head with the back of his throat.

"There we go." He led me to the bath, looking quite content with himself 
as he settled into my lap, my length pressed comfortably against the 
crease of his rear. "Sex on Lace is the best sex in the world. Cock like 
yours..." He made a quiet, hungry noise, wriggling in my lap. "You're 
going to blow my mind."

I began to wash him, enchanted by the way his tattoo moved over his 
muscles with every motion, with the permanent ethereality of the design 
in ink and smoke. "I think you already blew mine." I paused, trying to 
decide whether I wanted to know. "How long've you been out there?"

"Two years... ever since money ran out."

That deserved a little thinking. "You can't stop?"

He twisted in my lap, just enough to look me in the eye. "You ever hear 
the screaming, Kris? Withdrawal's tough, and nothing ever feels good 
again. I'm not that strong."

I shut up and washed him, cuddling him gently in the steaming water. 
After a while it felt familiar again. Skin the color of milk. Hair the 
color of walnut heartwood. Eyes the color of priceless sapphires. Even a 
design the color of faint, incense smoke. /He hasn't changed so much/, I 
thought, feeling the way his spine arched beneath my hand, ready for me 
to wash him inside, ready for me to make him slick with the lotion we'd 
always used.

He dried me half with a towel, half with his tongue, kissing beads of 
water away from my chest. /And maybe some of the changes aren't so bad./

----------

"You still have the sheets, right?" He found my bed, sprawling out 
across it, like a pearl against the deep, china blue, naked except for 
that pretty band of pink across his throat. We'd picked those sheets 
together; they matched his eyes. "God, I've missed this. Everything."

 "You're always welcome back here, you know." I sat down beside him, the 
way I used to do.

Something flickered across his face - sadness maybe - before his smile 
returned. "Less talk, more fucking, okay?"

I ran my fingers through his hair. "I miss talking."

"Please?" He begged up at me with his eyes, looking at me through his 
long, dark lashes as he took my hand, sliding it gently down his belly 
until it circled his shaft. "Three years, Kris. We've got a lot of 
catching up to do." 

I never could deny him when he did that. "Okay, Nicky. Let's see about 
pumping something up that cute little butt of yours."

He grinned, holding my hips down for a moment, and gave my cock another 
long, slow kiss, sliding his lips all the way down to the base. I 
shivered, almost overwhelmed by the feeling. "Okay, let's go."

I looked down. I was wearing a condom. "Huh... I don't remember us using 
those before."

He looked away, ashamed for a moment. "It's not for me, Kris... it's for 
you."

I blinked a few times, slowly realizing what he'd said. "Nicky... are 
you sick?"

"Well... no. I don't think so, at least. I'm pretty sure. I make 
everyone wear them, and I got tested clean last month."

I slipped behind him, kissing at his cheek. Part of me wanted to stop 
right there, to spend the rest of the night holding him, comforting him. 
Part of me said I needed him too much to care right then. I'm ashamed to 
say which part I listened to.

He sucked in a deep, heady breath as I slid into him, feeling him 
stretch around me, wonderfully tight and comfortably easy all at once. 
It came back out as a slow, contented groan once I sank into him, deep 
into hot, velvety-soft pleasure. He felt better through the latex than 
most boys felt in the flesh, and I began to savor it, taking him in 
long, slow strokes.

"Harder," he groaned. "Give it to me rough."

I nipped gently at his choker, tugging at it, letting my hands creep 
down his sides to hold his hips. "Thought you wanted it like we used to, 
Nicky."

He growled, frustrated, squirming in my grasp. "Damnit, Kris. Nicky's 
fucking gone, okay? Streets ate 'im. Nick wants it good and hard." His 
muscles tensed around me, sending a sharp little arc of pleasure up my 
back. "And you've been waiting years to use him like your little fuck-
toy, haven't you?"

Nicky never talked like that, but it was hard to argue with how good he 
felt. I rolled over and held him down, thrusting harder, deeper. He had 
such a nice ass, soft and rounded in just the right way. Just built for 
a good, hard fuck, built to whisper temptation into the animal parts of 
your brain. Three years ago he always begged me to be gentle. This time 
he begged me to give in. I didn't stop to think about it.

"Harder, damnit. Oh, God yes. Fuck me just like that. Just like that. 
Harder. Get your money's worth. I can take it. Harder!" He bucked, 
writhing beneath me, wanting more, needing it.

Harder is exactly how I fucked him, making him to groan in sharp, 
staccato notes, harder, faster, louder. He was deliciously hot, hot and 
smooth in my hands, hot and soft and strong beneath my body, hot and 
tight and slippery around my cock, and nothing else mattered, so I 
fucked him until he screamed into the pillow, jerking violently as he 
came. Once, twice, three times I felt him come, smearing thick, warm 
stickiness all over my hand. I brought it to his lips, and then he was 
hot and wet and hungry around my fingers, sucking greedily, coiling his 
tongue between them, panting as he tried to gulp down every last drop.

Even when I'd exhausted myself, even when neither he nor I could come 
any more, he still worked himself on my cock, his angelic face smeared 
and messy, his lips half-open from moaning, still desperate for more.

Just another slutty rentboy for me to use.

-- 
-Adrian Mailenna
"...and I will shed no tears."
www.1000gears.com

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ------ send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com>|
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderators: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|ASSM Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org>   Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org> |
|Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}|
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+