Episode One: The Wetsuit Affair
Guy Solo read a magazine on the deck of a luxury cruise liner. It would slice the seas for a week without touching land. A week of isolation. A week of work.
He saw a cluster of women walk by in gloriously small bikinis.
Maybe a week of sex.
And yet Guy Solo felt little excitement aside from what the bikinis caused. He let his eyes drift back to the magazine.
A few days earlier, Guy stepped into his Storage Unit. The main light illuminated a briefcase on the desk placed in the center of his unit. Guy approached it and flipped it open without hesitation. A yellow manila envelope sat atop bundled twenty dollar bills. He ran his fingers across the bills as he reached for the envelope.
He opened it to reveal a few pictures and one name: Abraham. Guy didn’t know if it was a first name or a last name, but it didn’t matter. He scanned through the papers that told him the man was well-protected, and this cruise would be the most opportune time to either kill Abraham or befriend him to kill him later. And even though there’d be less men protecting him on the cruise, Guy knew if he missed his shot, he’d have a lot of men on his ass – and not in the way he liked.
Guy held the cruise ticket in his hand, and then he looked at the money. He hesitated. He stared. He bit his bottom lip. He picked up a bundle of twenties and smelt it.
So now he sat on a cruise, watching Abraham board a smaller boat from the liner. One of Abraham’s men helped to transfer him to the smaller boat, Abraham’s portliness throwing off his balance. Guy noted the man seemed to be aging poorly due to gluttony, but he still had a young woman hanging off his arm, her bathing suit top barely gripping her breasts.
Guy took the opportunity to spot a few of Abraham’s bodyguards, or at least guess which men were his.
Guy himself wouldn’t follow. Normally he would take the opportunity to blow up the small ship. He could even overtake Abraham while they scuba dived and drown him, but Guy thought there was a much larger chance of himself drowning in the process.
Guy swallowed as he saw one of Abraham’s men grip him after Abraham stumbled again. Guy Solo was very afraid of the water. He didn’t like that he was on a boat, but he accepted it. Lots of money would make him do stupid things. But lots of money wouldn’t get him in the water.
So he read a men’s magazine and tried to decide which woman would be easiest to separate from the herd. He took his time examining them, his brown eyes lingering just above the magazine so he could pull them back down if they noticed. He thought the one with the one-piece bathing suit underneath the sarong seemed most promising. She glanced at him from time to time, a small smile in the corner of her thick lips. Plus, Guy reasoned her choice of bathing suit suggested she possessed low self-esteem, which meant she’d be easier for him to pick off.
Just as he stood up to approach the women, the small boat came back. He sat back down, watching Abraham and the others climb on board. The last person to climb on board caught his attention. The man was tall, young, and sleekly built. The wetsuit only helped to highlight the latter, and Guy’s eyes dropped to the man’s groin to try to judge any bulge in the suit. While the suit clung to the man’s ass, it was less generous to his groin. Seeing this man in a wetsuit made Guy want to overcome his fear of the water.
So Guy did the only reasonable thing. He stood up again to follow the man.
“Excuse me,” Guy said, touching the man’s arm. “I was thinking about going scuba diving on my next cruise, and I was wondering how you found it.”
Guy inspected the goggles twisted in the man’s blonde hair. The man’s steel blue eyes watched Guy carefully. “Do you scuba dive often?”
Guy caught the man’s accent, and couldn’t help smiling. The accent, though he couldn’t place it, was something he knew he’d enjoy. “No.”
“Then you will probably enjoy it,” the man replied, adjusting the flippers tucked under his arm. “I found it a rather mundane experience, but if you have not had many experiences underwater, I suppose there are enough things to provide entertainment.”
Guy nodded, his black eyebrows dropping to his brown eyes in an expression of deep interest. “I suppose you wouldn’t want to tell me about the experience over the dinner tonight.”
The man raised his eyebrows. Guy thought he read amusement on the man’s stony face. The man started, “I have received many propositions from both younger and more attractive men. I have no intention to lead you on, so I will decline.”
The man started walking away, but Guy caught up to him. “Have you received many propositions from more persistent men?”
He began walking away again, but Guy cut in front of him. “So, it’s because I’m old? I have to admit, I’m pretty attractive for a man my age. Because if it’s an age thing, I can assure you that I do keep up with the young ones just fine.”
“Your physical appearance is pleasing enough,” the man admitted. “I do appreciate the tan skin, and I find your aging hair quite charming.”
“They call it salt and pepper,” Guy added.
“Nonetheless,” Mr. Wetsuit continued, “I do not want observers under the impression that I cannot do better than an old man.”
“So you’re going to let strangers control your romantic life.”
“Just let me try,” Guy said. “One dinner, you won’t be sorry.”
“Yes,” Mr. Wetsuit said. “I will not be sorry because I am not going to participate in dinner with you. If you would please excuse me, I really must shower.”
“Are you inviting me to that?”
Mr. Wetsuit stared hard at Guy, and Guy thought for a moment that he would say yes. Guy didn’t want the relationship anyway. He just wanted to see the man naked and screw him as senseless as possible. Or be screwed, whatever the man wanted. Maybe he should say that.
“No,” Mr. Wetsuit said. “This shower experience shall be solo.”
Guy almost piped up his name, but then he remembered: the job. This man could be one of Abraham’s bodyguards.
Nonetheless, Guy didn’t take it as a negative. It was clearly destiny that the man had said, “Solo,” and that he specified “this” shower experience meant there would be others.
And maybe, just maybe, there would be a shower experience that really was the man and Solo.
Guy decided there would be two jobs for this cruise. Kill Abraham. Seduce and screw the man in the wetsuit.
And he’d finish the jobs in whatever order suited him best.
Guy found it easier than he thought, considering both the wetsuit man and Abraham seemed intertwined. Guy saw Mr. Wetsuit again when Guy sat at a table that perfectly faced Abraham’s table. He took note of the woman sitting with Abraham, her hands busily teasing his cufflinks while he stared intently at the wine list and not her. Guy thought perhaps the woman would be the easiest way to get access to Abraham. He’d give her the attention Abraham wouldn’t, and gradually she’d open a door to Abraham, either unintentionally or intentionally.
What was someone like him doing on a cruise anyway?
Then he saw Mr. Wetsuit walk in, though he no longer wore the tight wetsuit. He still wore a suit, though Guy noted that it could not completely hide his muscular form. When Mr. Wetsuit’s blue eyes locked on him, Guy offered a wink. The man pretended not to notice him and hovered around the tables to try to decide on a seat. The dining hall wasn’t too busy, offering many empty seats, but Guy watched the man take his time deciding.
Guy noted a few women check Mr. Wetsuit out in the same manner that Guy had, but he smiled when he thought the women likely didn’t see how great he looked in a wetsuit. Besides, Guy decided he claimed him, and there wasn’t any way he’d let a woman touch him first. He suspected Mr. Wetsuit didn’t want women anyway.
Once Mr. Wetsuit took a seat, Guy wandered over.
“Excuse me,” Guy said to Mr. Wetsuit. “Is this seat taken?”
“I am afraid there is not room for both you and your libido.”
The foreign accent only helped the wit cause a surge of excitement ripple through Guy.
“What about just one?”
“I am under the impression they come together.”
“They do, but I would make an exception.”
Mr. Wetsuit offered a kind smile. “Please, take a seat.”
Once Guy sat down, Mr. Wetsuit stood back up. Guy crossed one leg over the over, watching the man try to find a seat again. Guy was tempted to yell to Mr. Wetsuit about how his lap was more than free, but he noticed several of the prettier ladies observing him, and he didn’t want to give them the wrong impression. If he couldn’t have Mr. Wetsuit, he’d gladly take a lady.
If time allowed it, he would like to have both.
But Mr. Wetsuit surprised Guy by taking Guy’s old seat, a position in which he could observe Abraham. Guy noticed Mr. Wetsuit’s steel blue eyes linger on Abraham a moment before adjusting the cutlery on the table. Guy realized that from his own position, he, too, had a clear shot of Abraham. When Guy looked back again, Mr. Wetsuit stared at him.
Guy offered a wave.
So they were after the same person.
One of the ladies approached him, a brunette with unmanageable curly brown hair. She introduced herself and said, “Perhaps we could dine together.”
“Perhaps we could,” Guy said with a smile in the corner of his mouth. “That would be lovely. You’ll have to excuse me for just a moment, however. My colleague and I have something to discuss, and he keeps trying to avoid me.”
The woman’s eyes lingered on him, as if trying to decide exactly what Guy meant.
“It’s likely he’s just trying to avoid work,” Guy said, laughing and standing up.
He placed a hand on the woman’s back, leading her to Mr. Wetsuit’s table. He noted a woman had planted herself beside Mr. Wetsuit as well, and as the man spoke kindly to the woman, he seemed to be missing the accent.
“Ladies,” Guy said, putting his hands on Mr. Wetsuit’s shoulders. “Perhaps you would be willing to chat while the men have a quick talk.”
The two women exchanged looks. Mr. Wetsuit’s girl seemed offended, but Guy’s Brunette already took a seat, and she offered him a smile and a “Sure sweetie.”
“My apologies,” Mr. Wetsuit said to his lady, bowing his head slightly.
They walked out of the dining hall, and Guy said, “We should talk in my room.”
The accent returned. It lingered on Guy’s ear.
“I see we are observing the same thing.”
“Yes,” Guy said, “and I don’t mean the ladies.”
Mr. Wetsuit offered only silence.
Guy showed a crooked smile. “Though I know you’re not interested in the ladies anyway. Your girl there chooses not to notice that you don’t even remotely look at her figure. Her chest is hanging out for your eyes to rest in and your eyes are busy looking at – well you know.”
“Perhaps I am merely polite. I assume women are not merely placed on this earth for ogling.”
“You assume wrong,” Guy said, stopping at his door.
He placed the key in and pulled it to open the door quickly. Holding the door open, he waved Mr. Wetsuit through. “After you.”
His eyes dropped to Mr. Wetsuit’s ass as the young man walked through the entranceway. Hands in his pockets, Mr. Wetsuit’s steel blue eyes investigated the room. He made no suggestion of conversation, so Guy spoke again: “So who are you?”
Mr. Wetsuit’s eyes continued drifting.
Guy continued, “Why are you after Abraham?”
Mr. Wetsuit made no notice that Guy spoke. Guy grabbed Mr. Wetsuit’s suit jacket, pulling the taller man down to his eye level. “Are you his bodyguard?”
Mr. Wetsuit’s eyebrows raised, and he pushed Guy’s hands off of him. Again, he refused to contribute to the conversation. But his eyes only stayed on Guy now.
“Aren’t you curious about who I am?”
Mr. Wetsuit shrugged. “Well I know you’re not his bodyguard now.”
This time Guy grabbed Mr. Wetsuit’s tie to drag him down. Before Guy could ask his question however, Mr. Wetsuit gave him a hard shove across his chest, keeping him away. Guy grabbed at Mr. Wetsuit’s shoulder and while Mr. Wetsuit tried to escape the grip from one shoulder, Guy managed to secure Mr. Wetsuit’s arm against his own back. Guy quickly grabbed the other arm and slammed Mr. Wetsuit against the wall. He pressed his leg between Mr. Wetsuit’s, hoping to feel heat there.
Guy pressed his mouth against Mr. Wetsuit’s ear. “I’ll fuck the answers out of you if I have to.”
Mr. Wetsuit suddenly threw his body against Guy’s, knocking them both over an end table. The force of their bodies against the table destroyed it. With Mr. Wetsuit’s hands and arms free (and Guy hindered with a shooting pain through his back), Mr. Wetsuit pressed a leg from the end table against Guy’s throat. Guy felt the cheap wood tearing at his skin.
Guy offered what he hoped was his most charming smile. “Perhaps you’d be willing to fuck the answers out of me?”
Rolling his eyes, Mr. Wetsuit only pressed the wood harder between them. Guy’s one arm was pinned behind his back, though it was his own doing. His other arm was free, and he tried to figure out what he could do with it. He could struggle for power over the table leg, but possibly get seriously hurt in the process. He could try to find his own table leg, but Mr. Wetsuit’s keen eyes would likely catch him searching. His own stubby legs would do little damage to Mr. Wetsuit, and Mr. Wetsuit left him no window to knee him in the crotch.
He wanted Mr. Wetsuit’s crotch unhindered anyway.
So Guy raised his free hand cautiously, letting Mr. Wetsuit aware that he was using it. “Let’s work out a deal here,” he said. “I’ll give you my name in exchange for a kiss.”
Mr. Wetsuit did not press any harder, but he did not accept anything either.
“I’ve noticed there is more wood here than the end table’s.”
Guy spoke of his own excitement, but he noticed a hint of heat in Mr. Wetsuit’s cheeks that passed quickly. Guy used his free hand to cup Mr. Wetsuit’s chin (Mr. Wetsuit’s flinching in response), and then pulled down Mr. Wetsuit’s lower lip with his thumb.
“Fine,” Mr. Wetsuit replied.
He slowly lifted the table leg away from Guy’s throat, his eyes darting across Guy’s form, waiting for any breach of their agreement. Guy untangled his arm behind him, saying, “Relax, I’m just getting comfortable,” to Mr. Wetsuit.
He couldn’t read Mr. Wetsuit’s expression as he pulled part of the table out from beneath him. He wanted to tell Mr. Wetsuit to relax again, but he thought it might sound suspicious, and he quite liked the young man’s intense demeanour. It would be great to unwind him, to ruin his strict conduct.
“Okay,” Guy said. “I’m ready, and I expect tongue.”
“Your name better invite a gratuitous about of information.”
“It does,” Guy winked.
Mr. Wetsuit leaned closer to Guy, his blonde hair touching the wrinkles on Guy’s forehead. Guy raised a hand to touch Mr. Wetsuit’s smooth face. Mr. Wetsuit kept himself lifted with his forearms on either side of Guy’s head. Mr. Wetsuit’s lips touched Guy’s gently at first, before his mouth opened to kiss him deeper. The hand on Mr. Wetsuit’s head kept their mouth joined, but Mr. Wetsuit continued the kiss, playfully biting Guy’s lower lip in a break.
Guy’s free hand gripped Mr. Wetsuit’s ass, lowering his body against Guy’s. Mr. Wetsuit’s tongue finally breached the borders of Guy’s mouth. Guy slipped his hand down the back of Mr. Wetsuit’s pants to squeeze his bare ass in celebration.
The older man dipped his tongue in and out of the younger’s mouth, spreading his own legs to pin the younger’s against him. He felt Mr. Wetsuit’s firm body press against him, his own body aching in response. Mr. Wetsuit pulled away, but instead of answering, Guy kissed Mr. Wetsuit’s neck, where his neck met his collarbone. He carefully slid a finger into Mr. Wetsuit’s ass and felt him pulse against him. Guy’s own pants were tight and uncomfortable.
Guy suddenly found both of his hands pinned against the carpet above his head, and Mr. Wetsuit’s body no longer pressed against his. The young man pants, however, had begun to drift off of him. Guy could see the strong outline of Mr. Wetsuit’s erection against his white boxer-briefs, and he was sorry that he couldn’t see Mr. Wetsuit’s bare ass behind him.
Despite Mr. Wetsuit’s lower-half being on display, his eyes narrowed in determination, and Guy thought he might have seen a glint of victory in his raised eyebrow.
“I’m Guy Solo,” he said.
Mr. Wetsuit clearly hesitated. He bit his bottom lip and stared harder at the man.
“So you’ve heard of me,” Guy said.
Mr. Wetsuit sheepishly looked away, and Guy got the distinct impression that Mr. Wetsuit thought he should have been able to guess. Was he an agent then?
“Is Abraham your business then?”
“I only gave my name for the kiss,” Guy said. “If you want more information, you’ll have to take it from me.”
Mr. Wetsuit released Guy’s arms, and Guy would have been disappointed if the young man hadn’t stayed on top of him.
Guy said, “If you’re an assassin too, we could make a deal and split the money.”
Mr. Wetsuit scoffed. “That’s a disgusting way to deal with death.”
“So you’re not like me.”
“Not in the least.”
“That’s a shame,” Guy said. “I’ve always wanted to fuck someone like myself.”
Guy narrowed it down. Mr. Wetsuit had to be an agent ordered to watch Abraham’s activities. If he was on Abraham’s side, he would already been turning Guy over to Abraham. The question was which agency Mr. Wetsuit worked for. Was it international? American-origins? British-origins? He knew the man had an accent, but he’d never been good at guessing accents. Once, in bed, he called a New Zealander an Aussie and he walked out unsatisfied and with a black eye.
Mr. Wetsuit tried to stand up, but Guy pulled him down by his tie. “What about your name?”
“I am not foolish enough to give my name away with a kiss.”
“No, you wouldn’t be,” Guy cooed, his hand inching up Mr. Wetsuit’s tie. “Let me try to get the information out of you.”
Mr. Wetsuit raised his eyebrows, his eyes scanning Guy’s face.
“No games,” Guy said, releasing Mr. Wetsuit’s tie. “Just give me the chance to try.”
“I want protection.”
Guy took out his wallet and, upon opening it, pulled out a condom. Mr. Wetsuit looked around the room, as if he expected someone to jump out and test him.
“Have you checked your room for bugs?”
“Of course I have,” Guy said, ripping open the condom with his teeth.
Mr. Wetsuit leaned upwards to peer into the bathroom, but he stayed hovering on top of Guy. Guy took the opportunity to lightly massage Mr. Wetsuit’s testicles to return them to a stiffer state. He felt Mr. Wetsuit tense at his touch, and his face hardened as he said, “Fine.”
Guy laughed, taking out his erection and sliding on the condom. He saw Mr. Wetsuit’s eyes linger on him, thoughtfully watching. “You pretend to be all holier-than-thou, but you’re just as horny as the rest of us.”
“Fuck you,” Mr. Wetsuit replied.
“No,” Guy said, pushing Mr. Wetsuit over. “I’m the one who’s going to be fucking you.”
Mr. Wetsuit’s struggled only briefly against Guy as he grasped Mr. Wetsuit’s hands and pinned them behind him. It felt a little contrived to him, but he didn’t mind playing along if it helped Mr. Wetsuit get off. Guy cursed.
“What?” Mr. Wetsuit asked, struggling against Guy.
“The lubricant,” Guy said. “Shit, I can’t remember where I put it.”
Mr. Wetsuit slid his hands out from Guy’s grasp. Guy watched as he stretched, arching his back, to look on top of the dresser near the bed. Guy ran his hands along his companion’s stomach and down to his thighs, sliding off the clothes on Mr. Wetsuit’s lower half. Mr. Wetsuit swatted Guy’s hands away as his eyes narrowed, surveying their surroundings. Guy spotted a small jar on the floor under the bed, and he assumed it fell along with the nightstand.
So he reached under the bed to grab it while Mr. Wetsuit’s eyes looked elsewhere. He tried to go slow as to not catch the other’s attention. If Mr. Wetsuit did notice, he played along and pretended not to. Guy pressed off the lid and dipped his finger into the jar. With one hand, he grabbed at Mr. Wetsuit’s hands to contain them, and with the other he gently pressed a finger into Mr. Wetsuit’s ass, gently working the opening.
He watched Mr. Wetsuit’s eyes roll back, his stiff expression staying in place. Guy watched Mr. Wetsuit’s lips part as he pressed another finger in, spreading the opening and the lubricant, carefully preparing it for him.
Mr. Wetsuit’s expression hardened again as Guy pulled the fingers out and released Mr. Wetsuit’s hands. He put his hand back into the jar to spread the lubricant across his condom. Guy pressed one hand at the center of Mr. Wetsuit’s chest while the other hand lifted his ass onto his erection. He felt the weight of Mr. Wetsuit’s hands against his own face and chest, perhaps trying to get Guy off of him, but he definitely wasn’t trying hard. Guy knew the blonde had much more strength, and he was suspicious that he chose not to use it at this moment.
Removing his hand from Mr. Wetsuit’s chest, he firmly grabbed both of Mr. Wetsuit’s hips to slowly pull him downwards onto his cock. He wanted to make sure Mr. Wetsuit could take enough of him, he felt no desire to be kicked in the face.
“Shit,” Guy said through clenched teeth. “You’re tight.”
He thought perhaps the young man’s ass was virgin, but the rest of him couldn’t be, could it? Guy briefly imagined teaching Mr. Wetsuit the best parts of sex and decided he’d like to have male virgin once. He already stroked the female virgin off his bucket list.
Through the tousle of Mr. Wetsuit’s clothes, Guy watched Mr. Wetsuit bite his bottom lip as Guy started a gentle rhythm to slowly work deeper into him. He let his fingers tease the faint hairs on Mr. Wetsuit’s thighs, releasing in the sensations. Guy bucked upwards and tried to increase his speed, but Mr. Wetsuit stopped him. “Wait a moment,” Mr. Wetsuit said.
With Guy’s erection still in him, Mr. Wetsuit quickly kicked off his shoes, Guy helping him to completely take off his pants and boxer briefs. Neither of them bothered with his socks. “I do not want them tangled between us,” Mr. Wetsuit explained.
Mr. Wetsuit placed one leg across Guy’s chest, it fell limp across Guy’s shoulder. Guy held the other one down, keeping his legs spread as he quickened his pace into the man’s ass. He felt Mr. Wetsuit’s ass tighten against him, and he dugs his nails into Mr. Wetsuit’s leg to keep him on top of him. Guy felt himself breathing heavily, loving the feeling of his cock inside Mr. Wetsuit’s tight ass. He wanted to loosen him up, and this was the way to do it.
He began pumping in and out of him faster, slowly making his way deeper inside of Mr. Wetsuit, grunting through clenched teeth. Mr. Wetsuit’s erection stayed stark between them, untouched. Guy thought Mr. Wetsuit must be throbbing in frustration, but he wanted Mr. Wetsuit frustrated. Mr. Wetsuit kept his eyes closed, either biting or running his tongue along his bottom lip. Guy wanted to set his lips and tongue there too, but he liked the idea of Mr. Wetsuit suffering alone.
“Tell me your name,” Guy said, giving a rough thrust inside of him.
Mr. Wetsuit said nothing, but his eyes opened, watching Guy. Guy stared back, keeping up the pace of the rough thrust. Mr. Wetsuit’s eyes on Guy only made Guy want to go that much harder. Guy wanted to hear him groan, he wanted to hear him groan either Mr. Wetsuit’s name or his own. He wanted some reaction other than that cold stare.
He felt himself throb inside of Mr. Wetsuit. He hated going slow, but he didn’t want to hurt him. “Fuck,” Guy said, “Say something, please.”
Gripping the carpet, Mr. Wetsuit pulled slightly away from him, only leaving the head of Guy’s erection inside of him. He wouldn’t have admitted it, but Guy felt disappointment linger in his stomach. He would have hated to lose this one quickly.
He let out a gasp as he felt Mr. Wetsuit slam back onto him. His eyes rolled back as Mr. Wetsuit rode him, the blonde’s nails digging into his shoulders. Guy dug his nails into Mr. Wetsuit’s thighs, trying to regain his rhythm. “So you like to be in control,” he said, grunting as he thrusted. “Well, so do I.”
Mr. Wetsuit only pressed back harder, Guy feeling his erection rip into him. Whenever Guy tried to pound into Mr. Wetsuit, Mr. Wetsuit pushed back just as forcefully, with Guy gasping as he hit deep inside of him.
Guy heard Mr. Wetsuit begin moaning, but he spoke in another language. Maybe he told his secrets, or maybe he praised Guy, but Guy didn’t know the language and couldn’t even guess it. He cursed himself for not bugging the room to play it back later to himself. Why hadn’t he bugged his own room anyway? That would have been smart.
“God damn it,” Guy moaned, closing his eyes to focus on the feeling of Mr. Wetsuit tightening around him. His ass felt smoother every time he pounded it. “Speak English for fuck’s sake.”
Mr. Wetsuit said something that Guy assumed meant no, as he continued rambling on in the alien language. “Those better not be secrets I can’t under- Ah-”
He felt the edge of his orgasm, but Mr. Wetsuit hadn’t said any name yet. He tried to remember a particularly gruesome assassination, an assassination when Guy was a bit too close, which resulted in him being sprayed with blood across his face and into his mouth.
That memory kept him going for a few rough slams back. Guy heard his testicles slapping against Mr. Wetsuit’s ass, he reached as deep as he was going to get. He opened his eyes and saw a hint of blood between where the two made contact.
Guy thought he imagined it.
He must have.
Maybe his mind’s desperation to keep fucking without coming created the blood to keep him cooled off. He closed his eyes and rested his forearm across his forehead and kissed Mr. Wetsuit’s leg. He let Mr. Wetsuit buck back against him, groaning in his language. Guy tried to press all his thoughts away. He felt the heat rise to his cheeks.
Guy let out a groan as he came. He pushed Mr. Wetsuit off of him, and he saw Mr. Wetsuit wince as he stretched out beside Guy. Guy felt his ass burn from the friction of the rough, cheap cruise carpet. He pulled off the condom speckled with blood and tossed it on the ground away from him.
“You must have a high pain tolerance,” Guy said.
Mr. Wetsuit panted beside him. “It will be some time before I can sit comfortably.”
Guy replied, smirking, “Bet it was worth it.”
Mr. Wetsuit rolled his eyes in response.
Guy leaned to face Mr. Wetsuit. He kissed Mr. Wetsuit’s neck, running his finger vertically along the middle of Mr. Wetsuit’s chest. “Guy Solo,” Mr. Wetsuit said, folding his arms behind his head. “Talks if his life is threatened, if he’s offered a lot of money, or if he wants sensual delights. How do you manage to still obtain commissions?”
Guy kissed down Mr. Wetsuit’s chest. “There will always be men that are too cheap to hire someone else,” Guy said, kissing his pelvis. “And there will always be men who want a big show of things. I’m good at making a big show of things.” He ran his finger in a circle around the head of Mr. Wetsuit’s erection. “Those are the type of men that don’t care if I talk or not.”
Guy stood up, leaving Mr. Wetsuit on the ground. “I’m going to shower,” Guy stated. “I hear it’s rude to smell like sex at a dinner with pretty ladies.”
Mr. Wetsuit simply stared at him.
“I suppose you can handle your situation there?” Guy asked, pointing to his erection.
“Of course,” Mr. Wetsuit replied through grit teeth.
Smirking, Guy stepped out of his pants as he walked into the bathroom He took off his shirt and tossed it aside. He stepped into the shower, checking to make sure the showerhead was at a massage speed.
Guy lathered up, letting the water wash over him. He felt his chest puff up, satisfied with himself for conquering Mr. Wetsuit. He breathed deeply in, and Guy felt his body slammed against the wall of the shower before he could breathe out. Mr. Wetsuit forced an arm across his shoulder blades, keeping his upper half pinned to the wall. He felt Mr. Wetsuit breathe against his ear, pressing a lubricated finger into him. “I can’t go again yet,” Guy murmured.
Mr. Wetsuit smiled against Guy’s neck just before pressing roughly into him. Guy felt the slick, latex of the condom between them. He tried to buck back against Mr. Wetsuit, but found Mr. Wetsuit’s hands firmly gripping his thighs, trying to keep control of him.
No, the man was definitely not a virgin.
And Guy would be lying to himself if he even thought that wasn’t pain behind him. Mr. Wetsuit worked his way into Guy, pulling back and then pressing back into him. Guy tried to grip anything, his fingers slipping against the wall of the shower. It had been a while since he had been screwed like this. Guy pressed his back up against Mr. Wetsuit’s chest, feeling the man’s hard nipples dig into his back. Guy gripped the ledge for soap to support himself as Mr. Wetsuit’s feet spread Guy’s legs farther apart.
He thrusted faster and Guy thought it felt like Mr. Wetsuit deliberately slammed deep inside of him. He gasped, seeing stars as a wince of pain shot through him. “Fuck,” Guy groaned.
Mr. Wetsuit responded by running his fingers down Guy’s chest and stomach, pressing against his pelvis to keep him bucking back against him. He felt Mr. Wetsuit’s teeth dig into his ear. “I suspect you regret coming early,” he breathed against Guy. Guy relished in the first sound he made despite its insult.
But Mr. Wetsuit started making his breaths heard, letting grunts escape here and there as he thrusted into Guy. Guy had taken to cursing, exhaustion washing over him.
When Mr. Wetsuit began to moan in his language, Guy felt Mr. Wetsuit grow limper against him, his nails digging into his hips. Mr. Wetsuit came with a gasp against his ear. Guy swallowed as Mr. Wetsuit panted against Guy for a moment, running his fingers along Guy’s chest and stomach. Before Guy could make any snide remark, Mr. Wetsuit released Guy and stepped out of the shower. Guy found this act suspicious, but decided to finish washing nonetheless. He wanted to smell good for the Brunette waiting patiently for him. As he said to Mr. Wetsuit, it would be rude to come back smelling of sex. He wasn’t sure Mr. Wetsuit had bathed long enough, but he wasn’t going to take the time to wash him.
Guy gargled with mouthwash as he put on fresh clothes. He couldn’t see Mr. Wetsuit from the washroom, and when he stepped out he saw the man waiting by the door. Mr. Wetsuit’s clothes were back crisp, straight, and smooth, as if the man found time to iron them while Guy cleaned and dressed.
Mr. Wetsuit opened the door to leave, but Guy pressed it shut.
“Hey,” he said. “What about a kiss?”
Mr. Wetsuit rolled his eyes and tried to open the door again, only to find Guy press it shut again. “I’m not leaving without it,” Guy said. “Consider it a toll.”
“Surely you are joking.”
Guy simply smiled, leaning himself upwards to put himself into kissing range. Mr. Wetsuit wrapped his arms around Guy’s lower torso, lifting him lightly to his lips. Guy slid his arms around Mr. Wetsuit’s neck to keep himself steady. He wasn’t pleased that he took the girl’s position, but he didn’t like the idea of toppling against Mr. Wetsuit either.
He ran his fingers through Mr. Wetsuit’s soft blonde hair as their lips tapped again and again, Mr. Wetsuit pulling away before Guy could force his tongue in. Guy breathed in Mr. Wetsuit’s scent, observing that somehow his own soap smelt different against Mr. Wetsuit’s skin.
Guy patted Mr. Wetsuit’s chest, lightly pushing him away. “That’s enough, boy,” Guy said. “Unless you want to spend the evening here.”
Mr. Wetsuit opened the door again, replying, “I do not.”
“Then let’s not keep the ladies waiting.”
And Guy followed Mr. Wetsuit out the door.
“Are you even going to be able to sit down?” Guy asked, playfully groping Mr. Wetsuit’s rear.
“Please refrain from touching me publicly.”
“Why does your accent disappear sometimes? Guy asked. “Is it a show you put on for me?”
“Maybe,” Mr. Wetsuit replied.
Was this his idea of playfulness? Guy decided he would accept it. The pair sat back down with their female companions, Mr. Wetsuit’s right eye twitched once from the pain from sitting. “Sorry about that ladies,” Guy said. “But you know how business is. Did you manage to grab anything to eat?”
Beneath the long table-cloths, Guy ran a hand along Mr. Wetsuit’s thigh. He made no notion to push Guy away, and Guy found himself surprisingly eager to keep his hand there. He glanced quickly again at Mr. Wetsuit’s woman, unimpressed that he attracted the more physically appealing one. He let his eyes drop to her notably exquisite breasts. He looked back to his Brunette, with her tight curls, (smiling, of course) and decided he still liked her better. She didn’t scowl, she spoke with a deep, soft voice, and she seemed eager to please. She would be fun.
And yet he found his thoughts on the man beside him instead of on his next acquisition. He felt the discomfort rise in his stomach as he tried to think of who else caused this sort of temptation in him. He saw a splash of deep red hair in the back of his thoughts. He felt his hand tense against the soft fabric of Mr. Wetsuit’s trousers as he suppressed his bad nerves with charming conversation, and he hoped none of them noticed the slight quiver in his voice.
Mr. Wetsuit dropped into an American accent again, a generic one. Guy realized a new liveliness in Mr. Wetsuit, his naturally expressionless face breaking out into smiles with dimples. Guy puffed out for a moment, impressed with himself. He must have banged a chameleon, an agent with the specialty of disguises. The question was, did he bang the agent or the disguise?
He found Mr. Wetsuit using colloquialisms and littering his dialogue with bad grammar, Guy felt like he met an entirely new person. Guy withdrew his hand from Mr. Wetsuit early in the conversation so he could eat easily, and while he still found the attraction strong, the stoic, foreign man was the one that kept him interested.
Mr. Wetsuit didn’t last long after dinner. Guy noticed Mr. Wetsuit’s eyelids dropping heavier each time, and he made the assumption that Mr. Wetsuit wasn’t used to pre-dinner sex, especially if he was burned out this much.
Mr. Wetsuit excused himself, and while the woman offered something that could have been interpreted as sex, Mr. Wetsuit turned her down and promised to see her tomorrow. Left without the other male, Guy tried to charm his way into a threesome, and only offended Mr. Wetsuit’s lady. The Brunette later admitted later her disappointment to Guy, stating she didn’t mind sharing so long as she still had fun.
Those were the types Guy liked. Women so desperate for attention that they’d bend their own tastes, ultimately isolating and undermining the credibility of the rest of their own gender. It wasn’t that he liked them desperate, it was that he generally preferred women with many issues. They were more likely to blame themselves when Guy dumped them.
However, Guy had a different taste when it came to men.
But that didn’t matter right at that moment since Guy was definitely going to be with this woman. He led her back to his room and quickly found that the Brunette’s breasts, while not exquisite, were quite charming in their petite way.
The Brunette straddled Guy, kissing him deeply and grinding herself up against him. His own hand cupped her breast as if he held a wineglass and the other burrowed into her hair. Her hair felt stiff from hairspray. Mr. Wetsuit’s hair had been soft. Did he condition? Or did he just avoid unnecessary products? Was conditioner unnecessary?
“What’s wrong?” the woman asked. “Guy, you’re not getting, you know, excited.”
He tried to hide any heat in his cheeks as he realized that she spoke the truth. “I’m just thinking about business babe,” he said, trying to remember her name. “Could you excuse me for a moment? If I talk to my colleague I’m sure I’ll be right as rain when I get back.”
“Sure,” she said, sliding off of him and sprawling onto the sheets. She began to peel a knee-high stocking off. “I’ll make sure I’m ready for you.”
Guy grinned, but the smirk faded once he left the room. He couldn’t be at that age yet, could he? Mr. Wetsuit must have cursed him. He charged down the hallway to find Mr. Wetsuit’s room. He had scoped it out earlier, when Mr. Wetsuit went to his Solo shower, though he had yet to be invited inside the room. He knocked on the door.
He waited. Why hadn’t his woman asked why he was doing business in the middle of the night? Was she working for Abraham? Did she think he was going to get something to ‘help’ him?
He knocked again.
Mr. Wetsuit opened the door, the chain keeping it from being opened too widely. That disappointed Guy, he planned to force his way in, and the chain made it more difficult.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Solo?”
“I thought perhaps I could come in for a midnight snack.”
He eyed Mr. Wetsuit through the crack in the door. Did he wear pyjamas?
“You smell of cheap perfume,” Mr. Wetsuit replied. “Goodnight.”
“Wait,” Guy said. “At least tell me your name.”
“I will slam the door on your fingers.”
“Well then tell me whether or not you condition your hair.”
“I do not,” Mr. Wetsuit replied, “condition my hair.”
“Goodnight, Mr. Wetsuit,” Guy said.
“Goodnight, Mr. Solo.”
Guy slowly wandered back to the room. When he thought of what waited for him, he just couldn’t bring himself to get excited. He imagined unbuttoning Mr. Wetsuit’s grey pyjama top, kissing each patch of fair skin he revealed.
He felt a longing pulse through his body.
His lack of arousal could either be because of his age and his organs worked less accurately or because he wanted only one person. He tried to decide what was worse for him.
Guy knew had to get Mr. Wetsuit off his mind.
He opened the door to the room, seeing the woman there, well-groomed in her nudity.
He felt no pulse through him.
He closed the door behind him and, without a word, he put his mouth against her opening, running his tongue between the lips there. He felt her nails press into his shoulders. He pulled away to take off his shirt and, before he could dive in again, she stopped him.
It would be twice as pleasurable if they both did it, she explained.
Undressing quickly, he leaned back on the bed. The woman crawled on top of him, and again he wondered if Mr. Wetsuit would go through something like this. He imagined the man’s thin lips kissing and overtaking his cock, and the woman took his now much firmer member into her mouth. Guy, too, pressed his tongue back inside her opening focusing on running it along her clit. He kept his hands firmly on her ass, thinking of Mr. Wetsuit’s nails digging into his own ass.
He felt the cold air wash over his erection as she took her mouth off of it to say, “Don’t do that.”
He hardly noticed that he had slid a finger into her ass. He removed it, offering a smile of apology. She seemed to accept it, taking his cock back into her mouth.
Mr. Wetsuit wouldn’t have minded, and he found himself frustrated that he spent his time with this woman. Then, of course, his thoughts moved to how frustrated he was that he couldn’t be satisfied with this and wanted the mysterious man in the wetsuit. He really had no reason to focus on him over any other person – woman or not – and he hated that he couldn’t get him out of his thoughts.
If he knew Mr. Wetsuit’s name he probably wouldn’t be so interested because why else would he be so focussed on Mr. Wetsuit? Mr. Wetsuit had the bonus of being mysterious and when he revealed himself (which Guy knew he would) Guy wouldn’t have to think about him anymore.
“You’re doing it again,” the woman said, slapping his hand. “Are you just not feeling this or what?”
“Sorry,” Guy replied. “I guess my thoughts are just elsewhere.”
“Well do you want to do this or not?” she asked. “I mean, we can always just cuddle up and watch a movie or something.”
Guy laughed, then he realized she was serious. He cut it off quickly and, shaking his head, he opened the drawer of the nightstand beside the bed. “I think we just have to move things forward,” he replied. “Hold on.”
He winced as she ran her tongue along his shaft. He reached into the drawer to find a condom. The woman lightly jerked him off as he struggled with the condom. “God damn it,” Guy cursed.
“Here give it to me,” the woman said, taking it from his hands. “It looks like I’m going to have to do everything today.”
Guy tried to form a smile instead of a more stubborn expression. Normally he wouldn’t have minded a woman ride him senseless as he just stretched out, but he missed the struggle with Mr. Wetsuit. He wanted to pull hair and demand questions and thrust. He wanted to be pinned down and unable to pleasure himself.
And here he was unable to open a condom without Mr. Wetsuit.
He watched as the woman slid the condom on in way he assumed she thought was sexy. He wished he had seen the way Mr. Wetsuit’s erection looked inside the condom, he bet it was so tight he could see all the details through it. But Guy could only remember the way it felt inside of him, and he supposed that was acceptable too.
The woman mounted him, her back to him. He ran his hand along her spine as she slowly pushed down on him. He could feel the bones through her skin instead of the muscles that he felt on Mr. Wetsuit’s back. He bucked up against her, leading her down on him by her hips. He didn’t know why anyone would want to go this slow, it didn’t make sense.
He continued urging the pace quicker, her finally responding by slamming down on him. A gasp escaped from her mouth as she increased her rhythm on top him. He closed his eyes and thought of slamming into Mr. Wetsuit’s tight ass.
The blood. A tension hit Guy quickly as he remembered he left the bloody condom on the floor, and perhaps a carpet stain. He reminded himself to make note of it. Had the woman even noticed?
She began groaning his name as he took control, pulling her down against his rough thrusts. He felt his nails dig into her soft, loose skin. She begged him to go harder and he complied, missing the foreign pleas that came from Mr. Wetsuit’s mouth.
He felt his sweat cling the sheets from the bed onto his body. He imagined the hard mattress was Mr. Wetsuit’s stiff body pinning him, the woman’s moist entrance Mr. Wetsuit’s large hands overcoming his erection. He moaned, thinking of Mr. Wetsuit’s lips on his ear. He felt the woman try to move to face him, but he kept his grip firm so she couldn’t move. He didn’t want to feel her soft breasts against his face. He wanted to stay in the fantasy of Mr. Wetsuit.
She let out a contrived groan as she came onto him. He bucked a few more times, but it was useless. Her high pitch ruined his fantasy. And he pulled out of her. She grasped at his erection to finish him off with either her mouth or hands, but he waved her away. “Don‘t worry about it,” he said, sliding off the bed. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”
She hesitated, sitting up as Guy started walking towards the bathroom. She clearly had every intention of staying, but he had every intention of sleeping alone. He hated the idea of someone burrowing into his back or his chest. Or worse, being awoken with a kiss of morning breath. No thank you.
Guy’s eyes also quickly checked the floor for the condom, but there wasn’t one. There wasn’t even a drop of blood on the carpet. He doubted the woman would clean up after him without asking a few questions.
“Right?” Guy repeated, as if her problem was seeing him tomorrow and not leaving him.
She bit her bottom lip in what he supposed was her “sexy decision” face. “Sure, I guess.”
“That’s my girl,” he said. “Goodnight.”
And he closed the bathroom door, hoping he wouldn’t see her when he opened it.