Snippets of an affair ~ First Class

[zahraowens]

Title: Snippets of an affair (5/?) ~ First Class Author: zahra_owens Beta: the lovely gattodoro, who was just amazing! Rating: NC-17 Word Count: 3287 Warnings: Beware of boy-loving, guy on guy, and what's more, they're cheating on their boyfriends. Disclaimer: Persons and events described here may, on the surface, seem familiar, but I don't have a clue what I'm talking about. Author's note 1: The POV may change throughout the story, so the 'I' from this chapter may not be the 'I' from the previous chapter

INDEX / PREVIOUS

A wedding reception is basically an excuse to drink for free. It's the only redeeming aspect of a wedding really.

The whole marriage concept doesn’t appeal to me. Let’s be honest, which fellow in his right mind would want to commit himself to a partner for life? I know I wouldn’t. Even with the whole civil ceremony thing that us guys who like guys can now enjoy, I still wouldn’t do it. I grow tired of someone in a matter of weeks, sometimes days. The only reason I have a steady lover is because he's never there and we don't keep up the appearance of monogamy. We sleep with other people and everybody knows this. We don't even bother hiding it from each other. We like the casualness of one-night stands too much to give that up. While my pilot-lover likes them young, naive and eager to please, I prefer a guy with a little mileage, one who doesn't need to be told what to do and how to do it. If they're a little chipped, a little rough around the edges, I can rarely resist them.

So it helps that I have a large group of friends and because most guys my age have, or, have had older boyfriends, that makes for quite an age range to pick from. And it's not just the younger generation getting married either. Today I'm attending the wedding of a woman I used to work for and a guy I once slept with. This is another thing I don't understand. When I was in college, he was gay and I spent an alcohol soaked weekend with him at his away-from-the-city house. In between blind-drunkenness, we shagged like bunnies and trust me, that man was not straight. Now a good ten years later, he's getting married, to a great lady I might add, who doesn't seem the type to go for a marriage of understanding. They look like they're madly in love and more power to them, but I just don't get it. Don't get me wrong, I love women. I think they're divine creatures and I have quite a few female friends, but they don't turn me on. Of course in my college days any sex was good enough, so I slept with a few nice, sweet girls, but frankly once I'd got my hands on a lean hard body, it was cock all the way for me.

The chapel is slowly filling up with people now and I greet one friend after another, all of us dressed up smartly in traditional morning suits and cravats, as our upper-class upbringing dictates. Suddenly my attention is drawn to the entrance, although I have no idea what made me look over there, since the buzz and chatter around me is creating enough of a wall so I couldn't possibly have heard anything. I see you sneak in the door, just as the groomsmen close it and the fact that you're alone makes me smile. You look around, a little lost just like last weekend and I wish I could call you over, but there's no more space in my pew and the wedding music is starting to play. I sit down and stretch my neck to see you find a seat next to a jolly older lady, who's either seducing you or giving you compliments, because you flush crimson. You seem to know her though, because you strike up a whispered, yet animated discussion right up until the bride walks in. After she passes me and we exchange a wink, I look at you and this time you're looking straight at me. Your expression is a little unsure, so I smile broadly, hoping you won't look away. I'm rewarded with a shy smile and a clear sigh of relief.

Throughout the endless ceremony we mime our way through a silent conversation.

Nod in the direction of the altar and a smile: 'Nice ceremony'

Raised eyebrow and finger pointing at watch: 'Bit long'

I see you fidget in your chair and you keep looking at the front of the chapel, so I nod at you and give you a concerned look: 'Everything okay?'

You nod back and smile, then pull an exaggerated look of horror and make your hands tremble: 'I'm okay, just nervous.'

I give you my best questioning face: 'Why?'

You fold your hands together like in prayer and then open them like a book: 'I'm reading'.

Just then you get up and walk towards the altar. There's a small lectern there and for a moment you seem to look for your notes in the inside pocket of your suit. After finding them, you clear your throat and smile nervously at the couple before looking at the congregation. The chapel is silent and your hesitation before starting to speak seems to last forever.

"What a dud," my neighbour remarks quietly.

I don't bother answering him. I think you look charming, all nervous and fidgety and obviously not accustomed to speaking in public. I wonder whether you're a personal friend of the bride or of the groom or of both and if so, I'm surprised we haven't met before last week, still it will be a conversation starter for later. As you start reciting a poem about the nature of love, your voice surprisingly steady, but not as low as I remember it, my imagination drifts to what may or may not happen later and I wonder how much effort it will take me to get you away from the reception and into a more private place. I dare not imagine what will happen once we get there. The cut of my morning suit certainly isn't designed to hide any kind of arousal and I have a feeling the ceremony is coming to a close, so I will have little time to regain my composure. Instead I try to focus on the words of your poem. I'm not an English scholar, but it doesn't sound familiar, so I add that to my list of things to say to you. Am I nervous or what?

You step down and the couple starts saying their vows. As you walk back to your seat you scan the group for me until our eyes meet and I wink at you in a show of support. You look away in thought, but with your signature shy smile and I know I can't wait to 'casually' bump into you during the reception.

This turns out to be a lot harder than I imagined.

It takes me forever to extricate myself from my friends. Every time a group dissolves, different people accost me and feel the need to tell me about this, or that. The few times I manage to excuse myself to get a drink or go to the bathroom, you are surrounded by people I don't know and I feel I don't know you well enough to mingle with your friends. We exchange looks sometimes, but they are neither an invite or a rejection, so I'm left in limbo.

After two hours the coast is finally clear and then I can't find you. I have no way of contacting you and since I don't know your name, I also can't ask around, so I make my way through the crowd, frantically searching for you. It briefly occurs to me that my behaviour might strike people as strange but I don't really care.

I finally give up and go to the bathroom, just to be away from the noise of the large and now drunkenly rowdy reception crowd. The line for the women's is endless, but there's barely anyone in the men's room. The reception is being held in a very classy establishment, so the men's room is all black marble and brass plumbing with perfect lighting and a stack of neatly folded small towels instead of the standard paper ones. There is a tiny nook near the end that has a selection of small soaps and aftershaves, hand lotions and, quite surprisingly, condoms. When I hear a latch snap, I feel caught in the act and jump. Guiltily I turn and am startled to find you standing near the closed door, casually leaning on the door frame and looking at me.

"I thought you'd left," is all I manage to say.

"I had some unfinished business here."

This time your voice is low and confident, although your body language is still a little more reticent. You point at the latch you closed and that now seals off the entire men's room from the rest of the reception. "They really think of everything here don't they?"

I don't know how I can get to you fast enough; I barely prevent myself from running across the wide space that separates us. Your arms welcome me though, one hand underneath my arm and grasping at my arse, the other one holding my head so you can kiss me back. You taste of champagne and pepper, giving away the fact that you managed to get your hands on one of the last oysters before entering the men's room, and like all the times before when we kissed, it feels like we've been doing this all our lives. There's no power struggle, no fight for dominance, we simply both take turns directing our movements. Kissing has never been high on my priority list, so I can only conclude that you must be an exceptional kisser, because this is almost as good as sex, the way our bodies move in sync and I seem to melt under your touch. Our groins are rubbing together in a most pleasurable way and we could have gone on forever if it weren't for the fact we are rudely interrupted by someone banging on the door you are leaning against.

"Open up guys!"

You pull away, mouth open and gasping for breath. "Sorry mate, no can do. It's flooded and we're trying to fix it. Go to the ladies', " you say in an accent that's more suited to a East End London builder than the man I see in front of me, so I giggle but you give me a stern look. It immediately breaks into one of mischief though as we both realise we have the place to ourselves. "I believe you requested a mirror last time," you say in your own, seductive, voice, keeping it down so as not to be overheard by whoever is on the other side of the door.

"I...I believe I did," I answer, trying to process what you're offering me. You're still holding me and you don't let go as you kiss me again and at the same time push both of us in the direction of the wash basins. I reflexively grasp the black marble when my arse hits it and I see you kneel. Before I can say anything, you've unzipped my trousers, reached inside and taken my already hard cock out and now you're looking up at me while taking it into your mouth. As the heat surrounds my erection, I close my eyes and throw back my head in an attempt to both feel as much as I can and try to keep my composure so as not to come down your throat. You've suggested something way too enticing for me to let go, but you have a skilled mouth and I'm torn between letting you continue to keep me on the edge and making you stop so I can bring our joint fantasy to life. You make the decision for me, by raising yourself and kissing me again, while grinding your still clothed erection against mine, the fine fabric of your trousers creating some delicious friction. I push your hips away though, creating enough distance so I can unzip you too and grasp your rigid flesh. You're very hard and leaking quite copiously and I can't help remarking "Bloody hell, that really turned you on didn't it?" as we break for air.

You nod. "I like giving head," you state casually, hiding your slight embarrassment over your own statement by nuzzling my temple and moving your lips down my jaw to my neck. Suddenly you look up at me. "But right now I want you to fuck me, like last time, but in front of the mirror, like you asked."

I'm a little taken aback by your forwardness, but I find that seeing the determination in your eyes turns me on like nothing has before. Another bang on the door interrupts us, but you take charge by ripping off some toilet paper, grabbing a pen from the courtesy basket at the end of the wash basins and writing OUT OF ORDER on the paper. You zip up your trousers, open the door and hand the long strip of toilet paper over the top of it before closing it again and snapping the latch. When you come back, you're already taking your jacket off and unzipping your trousers again. You kiss me quickly and ask me, "What are you waiting for?"

I don't answer. I don't think you expect me to anyway, so I simply mimic your movements and in no time our jackets, cravats and trousers are neatly folded and hung over the door of one of the toilet cubicles. I've rolled on one of the condoms from the basket and am using the silky hand lotion to prep you with, while you're standing in front of the mirror, spotless white shirt hanging open to reveal just the right amount of chest hair and leaning on your outstretched arms. You moan quietly with every move I make and your pitch changes whenever I come near your sweet spot, which I try to avoid because your face tells me you're already enjoying this way too much. Last time I didn't take the time to prep you thoroughly. This time I want to make it better for you though, but you open up nicely and push back on my fingers, so I know you want me to get a move on. Raising myself as I rub my latexed cock over your cleft, I see your erection is dark and wet, and almost flush with your body. Being used to bottoms who can barely maintain a half hard cock through prep, I can't take my eyes off yours.

You sense my hesitancy and urge me on. "Put it inside me. Want to feel you fill me up."

I add another dollop of hand lotion before slowly pushing into your tight channel. When I'm fully sheathed, I see the strain in your face and hold still, giving you time to adjust. After a few moments you tentatively push back and I slowly start moving again. I take my time pulling out and pushing in again and slowly your face relaxes. You open your eyes and look in the mirror, locking your gaze onto mine. I start speeding up, taking my cues from the bliss that is slowly washing over your face and the sounds you're making, which have risen in pitch to an almost whimper with a definite pleading quality to them. I resist thrusting hard inside you, although my body craves for it. Then you practically beg for it.

"Harder. Please...fuck me harder. Need it...to come."

Your gaze in the mirror is becoming glazed and I can hear the power of my thrusts reverberate in your moans. Thick beads of creamy essence have been steadily appearing at the head of your cock and I revel in the fact that despite my own arousal, I have a front row seat to yours. I'm frankly amazed that I've lasted this long and I know it won't take much more for me to come, so I move the hand that's been resting on your shoulder, down your back and snake it around your side so I can use it to envelop your erection.

You hiss at the added stimulation and utter a curse. "Fuck! Close!"

I slow down my movements, afraid I'll come first and miss seeing your orgasm. My thrust are still strong though, with every push forcing your cock to slide through my fist and then I see you come apart. Your chest lowers slightly between your outstretched arms as your head falls back and you struggle to maintain our eye contact in the mirror. Your face contorts and your body tenses up just before you reflexively thrust into my fist. Your channel tightens and then starts to pulsate as creamy white essence splatters all over the black marble, creating white veins that weren't there before. I speed up my thrusts and your face starts to show the bliss I expect, but it's so much better than I could have imagined. My vision is clouding over as well though, as my body prepares to expel the seed that is boiling inside my balls. I see you smile dopily as electricity shoots from my groin to the rest of my body and sets my nerve endings tingling. I feel the strength in my legs starting to waver so I slump forward, clinging desperately to you.

A few second later I look up and see you staring back at me from the mirror. We're both still breathing heavily and I know I need to move, but my body doesn't agree with me. Mustering all my strength I manage it anyway, holding on to the condom as I slowly pull out of your now relaxed body. I reluctantly break eye contact and as I'm discarding the condom, I feel you behind me.

"Don't run this time, okay?"

I smile at you a little awkwardly. I don't feel comfortable with the post-fuck niceties and despite the amazing sex we've just had, this is still only a casual fuck and usually I try to get out of there as fast as I can. We wet the small hand towels to clean ourselves up a bit and get rid of other evidence of what just happened and I'm grateful that you don't try to strike up a conversation. The silence is uncomfortable, but talking about it would have definitely been worse.

You watch me as you're tying your cravat and see me struggling with mine. "Come here, let me help with that. I swear those things were not invented by a single man."

I avoid your stare as you help me out. We both know we need to go out there again and some of our friends might have missed us by now, but I know the secret of keeping your illicit affairs from becoming public knowledge is to act as casual as possible. Somehow you seem to be better at this than I am though and I wish I could just crawl out of the window and not go back to the reception.

"Why don't you leave first?" you suggest, trying to catch my eye. You eventually give up but not after you've lifted my chin with your finger and gently placed your lips over mine in a tender kiss. "It's probably better if we're not seen leaving together."

I nod in agreement and slowly open the outside door as I see you slip into one of the cubicles. To my surprise the hallway is deserted and I see a few guys standing in line at the women's toilets, but it's nobody I know. As I look back towards the Gents, I see the strip of toilet paper with the OUT OF ORDER scribble on it, lying on the floor and I realise that it's going to be a lot harder to walk away and pretend nothing happened this time.

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