They drew up a contract beforehand. Businesslike. Nothing too complicated – they simply agreed that it was best to establish certain rules.
They also both agreed that if there was any breach of the contract, the arrangement would be terminated. Effective immediately.
---
#1. Lights off.
Participant 2 closed the door to the storage closet, plunging them into darkness. Participant 1 leaned against the far wall, half-seated on one of the metal shelves. He heard Participant 2 approach with a click of heels, nervous anticipation running through his veins.
#2. Participant 2 will not speak at any point.
A light touch on either side of his chest, fingers running down down down as Participant 2 slid to the floor, hands coming to rest at his thighs. The feeling of nails dragged up and down, once, twice – just barely scratching him through denim – before unbuckling his belt, unzipping his fly, carefully coaxing his dick out of his jeans. Then, for a moment, nothing – just bare skin vulnerable in the open air.
#3. Participant 1 may speak at any point, but only in Spanish.
“Vamos,” Participant 1 whispered. “Ándale.”
Participant 2 still didn’t touch him, simply blew air lightly across his cock. Participant 1 shivered involuntarily. “Ándale,” he repeated. “We don’t got all day.”
A very faint, irritated sigh. “No...tengo....todo la día,” he tried again.
The feeling of Participant 2’s tongue suddenly pressed against the tip of his dick, and he jerked back a little bit. Participant 2 dragged it lazily up his shaft, and he shivered again. God, it had been....not since Howell. How long ago was that? 2, 3 years? Howell ain’t even around anymore, since she got knocked up. Stop thinking about Howell, he thought, ain’t about her. Participant 1 pulled up the images in his mind that he had prepared – beautiful dark eyes looking up at him in a hospital bed, in her dreary office, in McManus’s maze while his brother fried.
Cyril screaming his name.
Stop thinking about it. Stop thinking.
And then he felt Participant 2’s mouth envelop him, and his mind went mercifully blank.
He leaned his head back against the wall, focusing on the sensation – warm wetness and cool air, light suction, feeling himself hit the back of Participant 2’s throat without even pushing for it (Howell hadn’t had this kind of fucking range – fuck, stop thinking about fucking Howell, for fuck’s sake). Participant 2’s thumbs dug into his flesh so hard he could picture the bruises forming.
Stop thinking. Stop thinking.
Hot breath. Saliva. Tongue pressed against him like it was part of him. A very faint scrape of teeth.
Her face when she told him he had cancer. Her face as he went under the anaesthesia. Her face when she found out about Preston. Her face when he asked her if she’d thought of him during her assault. A shamrock hanging from a chain. Blood on his hands. Her face when she told him she was leaving.
Stop thinking – and suddenly he was out, dangling free, a fingernail gently scratching him.
“I’m fine,” he said, a bit embarrassed that his distraction was that obvious, and then jolted at the sudden flick to his balls. “Fuck! Soy...estoy...fucking! Bueno!”
A light kiss on the head of his cock, more traveling up and down his length, little tongue flicks like a snake tasting the air.
“Estoy bueno. Bien. Sigue.”
Back in, slightly out and in again, relaxing into the rhythm. He gave up on trying to think of anything specific, instead filling his head with an endless slideshow of random cutouts of every skin mag he’d perused for the past 6, 7 years, tits and pussy and legs and mouths and ass, disconnected body parts, slick sweaty flesh and how long had it been, exactly? How much longer did he have left? How much more of this could he take?
Stop! Thinking!
He suddenly gripped the back of Participant 2’s head, forcing himself deeper. A soft, startled gagging sound, and then the rhythm resumed, Participant 1 thrusting, fucking into Participant 2’s mouth and not fucking thinking about anything, anything at all but
but
but
but
aware, suddenly, of the short hair on the head he’s inside. wishing he had something to pull
an image from a magazine he’d had awhile back, some GI Jane type with 6 buff dudes working her over
Shannon had talked about buzzing her head once, an idle complaint in the summer heat
running his hands over his scalp after the razor removed all trace of the chemo’s effects
jerking over a screenshot printed on the back of an action tape, not a fag not a fag just fucking bored
Cyril asking him about the execution, the special procedure, wide eyes vacant and trusting
and suddenly it was over, panting, feeling his own cum mix with the saliva in Participant 2’s mouth, a hot pool of slime half-swallowed, half worked over the end of his dick, coating it in wet, dragging out the cleanup, and then he felt himself slide out and Participant 2’s grip on his thighs finally relaxed. Nails running up and down again, another teasing puff of air. Participant 1 tapped the side of Participant 2’s head lightly.
“Ahora tu.”
Participant 2 kissed his cock one more time before pulling away, giving Participant 1 a chance to pull himself together, zip his jeans back up, belt buckled. His eyes had adjusted somewhat, could see the outline of Participant 2 stood in front of him, waiting. He reached out into the darkness.
“Ven aqui.”
#4. Participant 2 will be clean shaven.
Participant 2 stepped closer, and Participant 1 cupped Participant 2’s face lightly, running his thumb along smooth skin. Participant 2 leaned into the touch, face turned to nuzzle his hand.
Holding Shannon’s face in his hands as he kissed her in the visiting room, tasting her tears. Brushing a lock of hair out of her eyes on their wedding day, tasting her laughter. Pulling her close when she sobbed over the news of her infertility. The look in her eyes when he told her they were through.
Participant 1 leaned in, pressed his mouth against Participant 2’s. Participant 2’s lips were warm, wet, slick – he could taste himself, and it made him press in harder, tongue aggressively probing for entry – then felt Participant 2 draw back.
“Wh-que?” he asked. “Que quieres?”
Participant 2’s fingers brushed his lips gently, then leaned in again to kiss Participant 1 very softly. He got the message, responded in kind – slow, light kisses, gradually building in intensity.
Gloria’s hand on his arm in the hospital. Gloria’s hand caressing his face in the maze. Pulling him close when he broke down in fear. The sound of his own heartbeat through the stolen stethoscope.
Participant 1’s left hand trailed down to rest near Participant 2’s hip, pulling it closer to him. Participant 2 sighed into his mouth.
His lips against her forehead. His hand on top of hers. Fingers linked through metal. A voice down the phone, telling him to stop calling.
He moved away from Participant 2’s lips, leaving kisses down Participant 2’s jawline, down towards the side of Participant 2’s throat and Participant 2 made a soft, whimpering sound, pressing against R-Participant 1’s mouth. Participant 1 bit down gently, and Participant 2 hissed, dug fingernails into his back, pressed against Participant 1’s thigh.
#5. Participant 1 will say the following phrases.
“Te necesito,” he whispered, dragging his tongue up towards Participant 2’s ear, a little gasp from Participant 2 as he did so. “Te deseo.” He lightly bit Participant 2’s earlobe, eliciting another soft moan. He kissed back along towards Participant 2’s mouth, which met him eagerly, hungrily.
Slicing his hand open in the kitchen. Bashing it against the sink in his cell. Her hands pushing him away, her voice calling for the hacks. Her back as she walked out of Oz for the last time.
“Te amo,” and T-Participant 2 made a strangled noise, kissed him hard.
Scrubbing Shannon’s name off his arm. Listening in hollow despair as the judge sentenced him to another 40 years. Every day in hospital blues, every corner haunted by her absence, Cyril’s absence, ghosts of all his sins accompanying the angel of death looming over him, waiting for him to surrender.
“Te amo,” Participant 1 said again. He tasted salt. “Te amo. Te amo. Te amo.”
---
“You should have studied the sheet more,” Torquemada said, almost as soon as they stepped into the hallway. “Also, your accent is terrible.”
Ryan glared at him. “Yeah, well, you made a lot more noise than we agreed on, pal.”
Eyebrows raised in amusement. “Who, me?” A snort. “Did you not hear yourself, sugar? Thought for sure someone was gonna come in.” He didn’t sound as though he had been particularly disturbed by this possibility – sounded bored, in fact. “Anyway, the terms of the contract were that I wasn’t to speak. If you wanted me to be silent, you should've said.”
“Didn’t think I had to be that specific, hermano. You're telling me you're not smart enough to figure it out yourself?”
“The point of a contract,” Torquemada said patiently, as if explaining something very simple to a small child, “is to be specific. So that both parties are aware of each other’s expectations.”
“Whatever.”
“I didn’t do anything outside the bounds of the agreement.” He paused. “You, however, did. Multiple times.”
Ryan felt his skin prickle. “So what? That’s it? You wanna stop?”
A beat. “I didn’t say that,” came the careful reply, and then,“Do you want to update the wording on point 2?”
“Nah,” he muttered after a pause of his own. “Ain’t a problem. Just fucking unexpected, is all.”
“Mmm.” He smiled faintly, and looked for a moment as if he was going to say something, then seemed to change his mind. “Well,” he said instead, “anything else you’d like to add?”
“Would you, um...” Ryan fumbled, then just forged ahead, fuck it – “wear a wig?”
Torquemada looked offended. “No. Of course not. How tacky.”
“Fine. Christ. You asked.”
“I’ll grow it out.”
“Oh.” Oh. “Take a while,” he pointed out a bit lamely.
Eyebrow raised again. “Oh? You going someplace, baby?” When Ryan said nothing – touché – he shrugged. “It’s that or nothing. I’m not wearing a fucking wig.” He spat the last word.
“Fine. Jesus wept.”
Torquemada hummed again, suddenly striding off ahead with force, click-clack-click-clack. He was nearly at the Em City gate before the full implications of the statement hit Ryan.
In for the long haul, I guess.
Fine with him. Fine as long as it was fine with. Participant 2.