Snippets of an affair ~ First Confessions

[zahraowens]

Title: Snippets of an affair (12/?) ~ First Confessions Author: zahra_owens Beta: namarie120 Rating: NC-17 Word Count: 2870 Warnings: Beware of boy-loving, guy on guy, and what's more, they're cheating on their boyfriends. Also angst. !! Slight mention of NON-CON (not explicit and the continuation of what happened in the previous chapter) !! 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: The POV may change throughout the story, so the 'I' from this chapter may not be the 'I' from the previous chapter.

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I wake up to the smell of coffee and bacon and a hand gently caressing my back. The combination of the delicious smells and the tenderness of the caress make it easy for me to know where I am. As I open my eyes I see you sitting next to me on the bed, looking at me with those beautiful ice blue eyes of yours and I feel shy all of a sudden.

"Sorry, I guess I just needed the sleep," I apologise.

"I can sit here and watch you sleep for a long time," you say softly, "but breakfast is getting cold."

It's then that I see the tray next to the bed and I pull myself upright. It doesn't matter that all my muscles ache; I've never been served breakfast in bed and I want to enjoy it to the fullest. Then I remember you told me yesterday you had to work today. "When do we need to leave?"

"Leave? Oh, for work you mean? In about half an hour."

"You should have woken me up earlier!" I say, all ideas of a lazy, romantic breakfast out the door.

"It was a close call," you tease. "I thought you could use the rest, because if you sit around yawning all day, I'll need to yawn too and that chef is going to think I'm not enamoured by his food."

I grab a piece of toast and decorate it with a strip of crispy bacon. "We can't have that now, can we?"

Although we don't have a lot of time, I enjoy having breakfast with you here in our bed and I'm grateful you don't talk about going to the police any more. After my shower, I feel much better and that ointment you used on me last night also worked miracles, despite the initial sting. Another few days until the bruises fade and all will be forgotten.



It's fascinating to see you work. You obviously work with the same people all the time because the communication between you and the others is short and precise and you're all on a first name basis with each other. You don't introduce me as your lover to them, but I can tell you don't need to. They are all open and kind people and I know this is why they get to work with you.

I'm given menial tasks like wiping the surfaces to keep fingerprints off them, but it does give me the chance to see the intensity and concentration you employ and I feel very privileged to be there. I never realised it took so much time to get food to look good and although I want you to look at me from time to time, I never draw your attention to me, afraid to break your concentration. When our eyes meet and you smile at me, I feel myself blush.

To my surprise, the chef is nowhere to be found and your food stylist, a wide eyed girl with straight dark hair and a gap between her front teeth, 'prepares' the food and some of it isn't even cooked. She explains to me that the colours of some vegetables look better on film if they're still raw, and also that hot food rarely looks good on camera. When the big cheese appears near the end of the day, he poses with one of the dishes as if he's been slaving over it all day and I see the disdain in the girl's eyes. Apparently the only people who'll get mentioned in the magazine spread that this shoot is for will be the chef and the photographer. Near the end of the day, you show me some of the pictures and I make a point of exclaiming how amazing the food looks and how great the layout is, just to give her an extra compliment.

As we're driving home I can tell you're tired. It's been a long day and I find myself wishing I could contribute more to this relationship by cooking you some dinner tonight. Instead I suggest we stop at a shop to pick up some frozen lasagna. You think it's a great idea, but you take out your mobile phone instead and dial a friend, who owns an Italian restaurant not far from your house. At home we eat the gourmet take-away straight from the stoneware pot it came in and it's the best lasagna I've ever tasted.

Our stomachs full, you fall asleep next to me on the couch and I sit beside you afraid that I'll wake you up if I move. I know it's silly because I feel safe with you, and I know that if I do wake you up you won't hold it against me. Still, I don't budge until I absolutely need to.

"Don't go. Don't leave," you call for me when I eventually move away from you.

"Not leaving," I say to reassure you. "Just need to pee."

I don't notice you've followed me until I hear you behind me in the toilet and I jump. You're gone before I can explain, so I hastily follow you upstairs where I find you sitting on the bed, taking your clothes off.

"I didn't mean to react like that," I tell you and you give me a reassuring smile. "It's just that he used to follow me into the bathroom all the time. And he'd...." I don't finish my sentence, because you nod and pull me closer, pushing my sweater up so you can rest your cheek against my stomach. You feel warm and soothing and I pull my sweater over my head and discard it so I can run my hands through your hair. Your tenderness is curiously arousing and I feel my cock swell inside my trousers. I've never met a man who worships me like you do and I feel totally unworthy, yet I can't resist you. I want to lose myself in you and never come back up for air.

You tentatively unbutton my jeans and let them slide off my hips, revealing my rather tented boxers. Your hands are caressing my flanks, gently stroking my skin with your rugged hands, but I can tell you avoid the more intimate places of my body. I want to feel your hands on my buttocks though, so you can knead them, open me up, rub my entrance and prepare me so you can come inside me and "Fuck me," I say. I want you to make the sting go away and replace that awful memory with another, much better one, so I can pretend that it hurts to sit down because you fucked me into the mattress, not because I couldn't say no to a bunch of drunken men who didn't know what else to do with their hard ons.

"No, I won't fuck you," you answer softly, your chin teasing the space just below my breast bone where my chest dips slightly. You look up at me and there's a slight smile playing on your face. There's so much love in your eyes and I don't know what to do with it, so I lean down and kiss you gently.

"Why not?" I ask and my voice sounds more regretful than I feel. "You made me all horny and now I want you inside me."

You don't answer this time, you just lean down so you can cover my still clothed cock with your mouth. It feels hot and sexy and I feel the blood rushing to my groin as I gently rest my hand on your head. You nudge a little forward and I feel you slide to the floor, your knees at either side of my legs and your back against the side of our bed as you push my boxers down. There's something a little kinky about seeing you on your knees in front of me while I stand here receiving one of your excellent blowjobs. I can't deny it feels amazing though, to see my cock slowly disappear into your mouth, not to mention that you know just how much pressure to supply with your tongue and how hard to suck when you retreat. As you lean back a bit, you let go of my hips and I can just see your hand moving down you own body to your boxers. You slide the elastic down to uncover your cock and release it so both your already impressive erection and your heavy balls rest over it. While you rub yourself to full hardness, I experimentally push my cock deeper into your mouth, using all my resistance to prevent myself from thrusting too deep. You smile and cup my arse with your left hand and after a few soft thrusts, you start moaning softly. All this time you're looking up at me, while I can barely keep my eyes off the way you fist yourself in time with my movements, occasionally letting your thumb graze over the glistening head. I can tell from the slight jerking movements of your hips that you're close to coming and I know I won't be able to last much longer either, especially not if you keep throwing me that sordid look while collecting the beads of precome with the tip of your tongue. It's getting harder and harder to prevent myself from simply fucking your mouth and then you take me in deep, all the way to the balls. I see the slightest hint of tears in the corner of your eyes, but you don't gag, and then you come, violently, splattering your essence all over the wooden floor and my feet and convulsing into your own fist. Seeing the abandon with which you give into your orgasm, my instincts take over and I can no longer resist thrusting into your mouth. The fact that your hand on my arse is still urging me on makes the need for this even stronger and I can't hold back the rush after I feel you swallow around my cock.

Afterwards you pull me on the bed and get a cloth to clean us up. While you're wiping my feet, you give me your loving look again and it doesn't go away when you take me in your arms and tuck me in with the duvet. I don't know what to do with the way you look at me. Is this love I'm feeling for you too? I know I love being with you but is this because I feel safe with you? Because I know you'll never hurt me? I know I want to be with you and I don't know how much longer I can take going back to him, especially now that I've run away.

The room is dark now and I can barely make you out. "Move in with me," you ask quietly after we've settled in each other's arms.

I desperately want to. "You know I can't."

"Why not?"

Although your voice is still soft, I know I can't keep avoiding this conversation. "Because I owe him."

"Listen, Angel, whatever it is, I think you've paid him back tenfold. Nobody should treat another person the way he's treated you, even if you feel indebted to him for some reason."

I snuggle closer to you, wishing I could just crawl into you and disappear.

"So what is it you owe him?"

"My life," I answer reluctantly. "He paid for my life."

"That's slavery," you chuckle, but I don't think it's funny at all. You sense that I'm not laughing and you stop too. "What do you mean by that?"

I shrug and don't answer.

"Okay," you say, kissing my forehead. "You can tell me later."

My sigh of relief is clearly audible in the dark room and we both chuckle silently, then you turn serious again and kiss me tenderly. I kiss you back immediately and try to convey how much I appreciate the fact you're willing to change the subject. It feels so good to be in your arms, in our bed, safely tucked away from the big bad world.

I start wondering if you've fallen asleep when you suddenly start speaking again. "You can't go back there, Angel. I have a room for you here, your own room, with your own bed. I was going to wait to ask you until it was finished, but I can't wait now, because if he ever lays a finger on you again, I'll not only never forgive myself, I also won't be responsible for my actions."

I shut you up by kissing you again and then it hits me. My own room? "Why are you banishing me to another room?"

"I'm not banishing you. I want you to have your own life. Angel, listen, I don't want another symbiotic relationship. Fifteen years of that is more than enough, thank you. I want you to get a job and have your own space and your own friends and...."

I can't believe what you're saying and I need to see your face so I flick the light on. You blink against the intrusion and this stops you talking. You look adorable though and the anger I felt before, suddenly evaporates. "I... Just explain to me why? Why can't I sleep here with you? Isn't this good?"

You smile and give me that look again. That look you seem to reserve just to seduce me. "I want nothing more than to have you in my bed, our bed, every single night for the rest of my life. But I want more for you. I want you to find fulfilment outside of this house. I want you to have your own money."

"And what I want is not important, I suppose?" I see the stunned look on your face and the way you close your mouth right after you opened it and I roll my eyes. We don't talk but we both know what we want to say, although neither of us can find the words.

I eventually settle for, "So I can do anything I like with the room?" You nod. "We'll need to pick up some of my stuff from the apartment." Another nod. "I don't have a lot, but there's one box. I kept it hidden from... from him, because he thought it was stupid."

"I'm sure if it means a lot to you, it can't possibly be stupid," you say, interrupting my train of thought.

"It's stuff for a shrine, a Buddhist shrine. Flowers and incense and...."

"Doesn't that deserve a more central place in your house?"

I'm stunned that you accept it just like that, without questions. "And I chant," I add, expecting you to laugh at me, but you don't. "It doesn't matter where it is. I can put it in that room. Will be nice to not have to put it back in the box every time."

"Oh Lord, why would you? It's important to you, obviously."

"Haven't been a very good Buddhist these last months," I admit. "Between living here and with him, I haven't had much time to do what I'm supposed to do."

"I hope you'll tell me about it one day," you say softly, pulling me closer and I settle into your arms again, my back resting against your chest. You switch off the light again.

"I'm not to be trusted with money, though."

"Why not?" you ask and I can tell you're trying to sound neutral.

I take a deep breath in, trying to muster the courage to tell you the whole story. Feeling you wipe my hair away from my face, makes me feel I have no other option. I need to bite the bullet. "I told you my parents sent me to England with a full bank account, right?" I can just see you nod your head. "It was a nice amount, I mean they're filthy rich so I guess what they gave me was pocket money, really. I wanted to make a good life for myself, but like I told you before I wasn't any good at school and I didn't have any sort of diploma, so finding a job wasn't exactly easy either. The money started running out and I was working at the racing track so I bet some of my money on the ponies and I actually won. So I tried again and won again. For a few years I managed to make a decent living betting, but then I became overconfident, I guess, and I started betting more." You're very patient letting me finish my story, but I don't know if I have the nerve.

"You lost a lot of money?"

"A small fortune," I admit after an uncomfortable pause. "I was really deep in debt and I met the wrong person who loaned me money to pay off that debt."

"Your pilot?"

"No," I shake my head. "But he did end up paying it off to the guys who threatened to 'hurt me'."

"How long ago?"

I hesitate for a moment. "Six years." It seems like forever.

You squeeze me closer. "I think you've more than paid him back, Angel."

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