by Kal Cobalt
(05/18/05)

I knocked on the door, just below the sign cheekily proclaiming THE RED LIGHT DISTRICT. From inside, my love asked, "Who is it?"

"I'm tall, well-hung, and I left that handprint on your ass last night."

"Hmm...you'll have to be more specific..."

The door opened and I sucked in my breath. Anytime he wore all black, my brain shut down and my cock sprang to life. Especially this outfit: black T-shirt, black jeans, black belt with silver studs, black boots. His body made a stunningly slim line from shoulders to hips, lithe and beautiful.

"Get in here, you're disturbing my air flow," he chided. I hastily stepped inside.

My eyes took a moment to adjust, but not long to understand why red is the color of sexual misfits; it places a wicked cast upon everything, every angle, every plane of black-clad body. I took a seat upon the worn red couch my love had claimed at a rummage sale. I watched the inviting curve of his ass as he returned to rinsing negatives. His sure hands manipulated the tools of his trade the same way he stroked his cock -- steady, confident, aware. Christ, I was rising to the sight of a man developing film, and it seemed the most natural thing in the world.

He turned to face me and nodded at the couch. "Scoot to the stool, will you? That's my favorite spot."

"Sure." I sidled past pans of chemicals. "I won't turn funny colors if I touch this stuff, will I?"

"The story of your life will be developed on your skin." He shrugged on his leather jacket, careful to keep it away from the developer, and then dropped onto the couch. "Man, that's more work than it looks," he sighed, scratching his chest. My gaze fastened upon that pale hand against the tightly stretched T-shirt, and it abruptly stopped his movement. I looked up, dismayed that I had been caught. Whenever I got caught, the games ensued.

His hand moved again, lazier, almost caressing himself, cupping the swell of one firm pec. "Somebody's distracted."

I tried to ignore his hand and focus on his words. "I'll admit that."

"Maybe you're looking for a bit of a show?"

"Maybe I just like watching you be yourself."

"Bullshit," he grinned. The hand slowly made its way down the impossibly flat expanse of his abdomen, sliding downward all the way to where T-shirt ended and jeans began. Surely he wouldn't...he did. That casual, eloquent hand cupped his package. In the eerie red light I almost disbelieved what I saw, as though its mere hue could create some hallucinatory effect. But each time I blinked, his hand remained there, and I remained a few scant feet away, watching like I'd never seen his unabashed beauty before.

He gently massaged the bulge. "You like what you see?" he asked.

"Yeah," I managed, swallowing hard.

"Yeah? How much do you like it?" His fingers splayed apart, teasing himself with his fingertips.

"A lot." I was uncertain how eloquent he expected me to be.

He spread his legs wide and rubbed the flat of his palm against his fly. "Ah, feels so good," he sighed, head lolling back a little so the dim red light could caress his pale skin. So beautiful, and so mine, yet at this moment entirely unattainable. "I bet you wonder what I do when I'm by myself," he murmured, husky and breathless. "How I touch myself...how I get off. Do you wonder about that?"

"Yeah," I managed, trying not to lean forward or succumb to the steady ache in my pants.

"How I get on without you...when we're separated. You know what a libido I have." He demonstrated, arching up into his hand once, twice, a lithe and graceful movement punctuated by a sharply hungry gasp. "God, yeah, that's so good," he moaned. I shuddered at the thought of how exhibitionistic he might be once he freed his cock. Of course, this was my unpredictable and wickedly teasing lover; it was entirely possible he would end this game before that point, for any reason under his cherry-red sun.

The heels of his boots scraped against the hardwood floor as he shifted his weight, his jacket creaking in that intensely sexy way leather can't help but do. The tips of his fingers slid to his waistband, slim fingers working the button, then pulling down the zipper, revealing tiny black briefs that did not leave his arousal in question. A soft moan escaped him as he ran his fingers down that thin fabric, slowly peeling it from his skin and oh Christ, there was the head, a desperate crimson, jutting forth from his soft and wonderfully touchable foreskin. Slowly, he revealed the swollen shaft, the thick vein pulsing up the underside, the tight, hot balls I loved to nuzzle against my short beard. I don't know how many times I had seen his naked body in just such a state, and yet his blatant showmanship made me feel as though it were the first time.

And then the bastard acted like I didn't exist.

Returning to the slow caressing of his chest, he slowly pushed up the hem of his T-shirt, all the way up to his tight nipples. He licked one finger and circled a nipple with it, finally touching it, pinching it, moaning in pleasure, arching into his own touch. "So good," he whispered. "Sometimes I sit here, right here, thinking about you...about you touching me. It's dark and eerie in here and I envision you...doing things to me. " He tugged the nipple sharply and cried out as if it had taken him by surprise. "So fuckin' good, you are." His eyes fluttered open. "You still watching?"

"Yes," I said hoarsely. I wasn't sure what else he thought I'd be doing.

"Good. I like having an audience." He smiled at me, what I called his shy-slut smile, a look so absolutely innocent and yet inexplicably wicked that no one could resist its charms.

His hand drifted downward again. The entirety of my being focused upon that movement, watching his scarlet-tinged skin as his hand approached his straining cock once more. He was far more gentle with it than I was, though I supposed that made a certain kind of sense; when we fed off one another's heat, there was always a bit of roughness to it. His fingers sliding along the eerie red-bathed erection robbed me of breath. I struggled for air and control as he stroked, teasing himself, teasing me. His index finger slowly circled the tight, straining head, coaxing forth a droplet of pearly fluid that trembled at the slit, then made its way down the length of his cock.

"Oh Christ," I whispered. My hand uncontrollably crept to my own fly, desperate, but I stopped in shock when he blocked my view of his cock with his hand.

"My show," he said. "Mine alone."

I nodded and sat on my hands, fearful of the hunger within me. He rewarded me with an unimpeded view. He closed his eyes and stroked the underside of his tight cock with two fingers, over and over again till it jumped and throbbed under his knowing touch. I'd never seen him sustain such a powerful erection; he took great pride in showing it off, and I wasn't about to blame him for it.

"Sometimes I think about you licking me." His eyes were still closed. "Licking me and keeping me on the edge, no matter how much I beg...sometimes...sometimes I think about sucking you...touching myself and sucking you..." He brought his hand to his mouth, tracing his lips, then pumping two fingers in and out as he stroked his cock in the same rhythm, eyes closed, face glistening with sweat in the red light, his close-cropped hair glimmering with feverish moisture. I knew how his hair would feel, soft but spiky, lanky with sweat; if I ran my hand through it, his head would tilt back with a soft shudder.

Saliva dripped from the fingers pistoning his mouth. My mind screamed please please please, but I dared not speak it aloud. He moaned around the girth of his fingers, thrusting up into his hand, completely focused upon the sensations he provoked. God, so fucking beautiful as he worked himself closer and closer. Worked me closer and closer.

His eyes snapped open. "Watch me. Oh fuck, yeah, here it comes..."

His hips jumped off the couch and he squeezed his cock one more time before thick spurts of come jetted from him. Choked cries escaped as he shuddered and bucked and trembled, his breath hitching to a complete stop before resuming in shaky, post-orgasmic sighs.

"I can't," I muttered, "please..."

He shook his head, eyes glittering as he licked the come from his fingers. Slowly, he stood and stepped so close to me that his softening cock brushed my thigh.

He pressed his hot, sticky fingers against my lips and I sucked them in immediately, begging him with my eyes. His other hand crept into my pants, pulling out my stiff cock. When he spread my knees and knelt, I moaned in anticipation. His hot mouth engulfed me and I cried out, grabbing his head. I drove deep into his mouth once, twice, before bucking hard; every muscle of my body shuddered in pleasure.

I came hard into his waiting mouth that sucked it out of me, smiled up at me, his tongue dancing along my slit until it became such painful pleasure that I pushed him away.

He sat back on his haunches, grinning at me.

"Bastard," I grinned back.

"You know the main advantage of developing your own film?" he asked, standing up and adjusting his clothes.

"What, smartass?"

"Dirty pictures. Now strip." He gave me that shy-slut smile again. "Your show's going on film."

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