To Touch the Face - Seventh Installment
I know, gluttony is a sin, but how do you define gluttony? Cleaning your plate? Twice? Without even bothering to look up into the soulful dark eyes of the person who prepared each morsel with tender love and care? Hmm. I’ll have to think about that one, but I filed it away for later consideration as I sat back, uncomfortably full, but still managing to sip at the dark, rich sweetness of the Turkish coffee Duncan had served at the end of the meal.
“I take it you liked it?” Duncan asked, looking bemused as he rose and cleared away the dessert plates, now empty save for a few wisps of delicate pastry crumbs left stuck to the honey I hadn’t been able to scrape off the surface.
“You, my dear sir, are an excellent host,” I sighed, then loudly belched to emphasize my appreciation for the excellent meal.
“And you, my dear sir, can pack away a lot of food for such a slender frame,” he responded, returning to refill my demitasse with thick, sweet coffee. “And you never even asked me what you were eating. I could have been serving you pig’s intestines for all you knew.”
“Were you?”
He smiled and sat, daintily picking up his cup and taking a sip. “Hardly. That was dredged and fried Moroccan chicken spiced with turmeric, ground red pepper, fresh garlic and ginger, then cooked with onions in a thickened broth and served over couscous that was cooked with pine nuts and dried currents. The dessert was baklava.”
“Well,” I responded with a languid wave of my hand, “Whatever it was, it was delicious. My compliments to the chef.”
He inclined his head in modest acknowledgment and sat back, the small cup cradled in overlarge hands as he appeared to study me like one of his many objets d’art. I’m used to curious eyes, so I settled back into the soft luxury of the leather sofa and studied him back. My earlier heated lust had been banked by the good food and wine into a warm sense of anticipation and companionship. We had time. We had lots of time, and this moment seemed too precious not to savor.
I knew what he saw - a long lean body, a perfect complexion, golden hair in tumbling, artful disarray, a strength of body and mind that belied my smooth, fair skin and almost-innocent blue eyes. As a representative of Heaven, I had been given these gifts and had used them over the millennia to dazzle, to persuade, even to compel.
But did he know what I saw, I wondered? How did the merely-Immortal Duncan MacLeod perceive himself? Surely he knew he was pleasing to the eye - the careful, flattering cut of his clothes was a giveaway, if nothing else. Did he know he still wore the charismatic aura that once had the mightiest of the mighty bend their knee at the merest sign of his displeasure? Oh, it was muted now, somewhat buried under the weight of his humanity, his grief, a sense of failure whose source he couldn’t even identify, but which I knew all too well.
Being one of God’s minions, especially the Bearer of Justice, was a heavy, heavy burden and one he had never worn easily. And that sense of obligation, that need to Make Things Right had been carried into this life as surely as he had been born into his humanity with uncanny strength and skill with a sword. And beauty. It shone from him like an inner light that gleamed over mahogany hair and dark soulful eyes, spiced with a sweet, lush mouth framed in a manly jaw. That mouth curved up on one side.
“You’re staring,” he observed quietly.
“So are you.”
“But that’s because you are quite,” he paused, reached out and touched my cheek, moving a curl behind my ear. “Quite extraordinary.”
“I was just thinking the same thing about you,” I answered, and slid closer, slipping under the curve of the arm he had rested on the back of the couch. I put down my cup and leaned close, studying the contours of his face and reached up to smooth the errant dark eyebrow over his left eye. “I want to kiss you,” I announced compulsively.
The other corner of his mouth curved up to join the first, like cupid’s bow. “I think I can handle it.” He leaned forward to put down his cup, then gathered me in as though enfolding me in sweet, soft, dark wings, bent his head to the side and his lips met mine with gentle intent. A soft touch, and another, then his mouth opened slightly and I could feel the moist warmth of his tongue touching my lips.
My earlier desperate lust stirred, but this time I deliberately pushed the feeling away, wanting to savor being held, being tenderly and expertly attended to with such care. I have no memory of ever being held like that, of being touched and fondled and sweetly adored, as though I was the center of someone’s universe at that moment. Of course, God’s love is all-encompassing, all-accepting, but there is something about the physical act of being held that is uniquely satisfying, filling a need I wasn’t aware I had until that very moment.
Wallowing in the sensation, I allowed myself to be pressed back and rearranged until I was on my back, his weight pressing me into deep, soft cushions as his hands held my head, caressed my neck, then fingers worked at my shirt buttons until it slipped off my shoulders, exposing my chest. His mouth followed, lips and tongue gently laving my nipples as his warm, moist breath washed over my overheated flesh. A shivering jolt of lust made me gasp and my hips rose of their own accord, pressing into the hard muscle of his torso.
“Easy,” he whispered. “Relax. Enjoy.”
Relax? Relax, he says. Okay. I took a deep breath and once more attempted to let him sooth and kiss and artfully disrobe me. My shirt was mostly off, and my trousers were blissfully open and I accommodated by slightly lifting my hips so he could slide them down my thighs. That sweet mouth moved further down and I closed my eyes, letting my fingers slide through his silky hair as his head bobbed and moved, dipping a wet tongue into my navel, then licking and nipping at my hips while his hands cupped my buttocks like they had been formed specifically for that purpose.
Then he… licked my cock.
I froze and stopped breathing because if I didn’t I was sure I would whimper like a girl.
Then he - ever so slowly - sucked my dick into his mouth, and I truly did whimper like a girl, making some noise between a squeal and a moan since I was utterly uncertain what this human body was going to do. I only knew whatever it did, I had neither the will nor the strength to stop it.
I had a death grip on his head at this point, afraid he would stop, and even more terrified he wouldn’t. He kneaded my ass cheeks, gradually moving his hands closer and closer to the center, and set up an incredible rocking rhythm, helping me move my hips in time to the heavenly sensation of his mouth on my cock, which felt so huge and swollen, the skin was likely to split and burst. It was painful, but felt so good, so delicious, nearly unbearable, and then my whole body flashed with the most incredible feeling of lightness and release. I shouted something incoherent in surprise and joy, contracting around my cock which had become the center of the universe at that moment. Time seemed to stop, along with my breath and my heart, as the sensation washed through me like a huge wave crashing on a warm, sandy beach, then slowly retreated, and by the time I was finally able to take a breath, I flopped back onto the couch, limp and almost unconscious.
Holy St. Peter and Paul… well, not Paul, who for all his faith and devotion to Spreading the Word, was still more than a bit of a bigot.
Oh, shut up, I told myself, wanting to turn off my busy brain long enough to just wallow in the warmth of Duncan’s embrace as he crawled back up my body and gently stroked my hair.
“Worth the wait?” he asked in a near-whisper.
If I’d had the breath or strength, I would have laughed out loud. I had been an Angel of God since Time Began. Worth the wait? I didn’t know how to even begin to answer that question.
I opened my eyes at last to look up into a handsome face flushed and sweaty with passion, and I could feel his cock, hard and throbbing, against my belly. “Can we do it again?” I asked.
..... to be continued
“I take it you liked it?” Duncan asked, looking bemused as he rose and cleared away the dessert plates, now empty save for a few wisps of delicate pastry crumbs left stuck to the honey I hadn’t been able to scrape off the surface.
“You, my dear sir, are an excellent host,” I sighed, then loudly belched to emphasize my appreciation for the excellent meal.
“And you, my dear sir, can pack away a lot of food for such a slender frame,” he responded, returning to refill my demitasse with thick, sweet coffee. “And you never even asked me what you were eating. I could have been serving you pig’s intestines for all you knew.”
“Were you?”
He smiled and sat, daintily picking up his cup and taking a sip. “Hardly. That was dredged and fried Moroccan chicken spiced with turmeric, ground red pepper, fresh garlic and ginger, then cooked with onions in a thickened broth and served over couscous that was cooked with pine nuts and dried currents. The dessert was baklava.”
“Well,” I responded with a languid wave of my hand, “Whatever it was, it was delicious. My compliments to the chef.”
He inclined his head in modest acknowledgment and sat back, the small cup cradled in overlarge hands as he appeared to study me like one of his many objets d’art. I’m used to curious eyes, so I settled back into the soft luxury of the leather sofa and studied him back. My earlier heated lust had been banked by the good food and wine into a warm sense of anticipation and companionship. We had time. We had lots of time, and this moment seemed too precious not to savor.
I knew what he saw - a long lean body, a perfect complexion, golden hair in tumbling, artful disarray, a strength of body and mind that belied my smooth, fair skin and almost-innocent blue eyes. As a representative of Heaven, I had been given these gifts and had used them over the millennia to dazzle, to persuade, even to compel.
But did he know what I saw, I wondered? How did the merely-Immortal Duncan MacLeod perceive himself? Surely he knew he was pleasing to the eye - the careful, flattering cut of his clothes was a giveaway, if nothing else. Did he know he still wore the charismatic aura that once had the mightiest of the mighty bend their knee at the merest sign of his displeasure? Oh, it was muted now, somewhat buried under the weight of his humanity, his grief, a sense of failure whose source he couldn’t even identify, but which I knew all too well.
Being one of God’s minions, especially the Bearer of Justice, was a heavy, heavy burden and one he had never worn easily. And that sense of obligation, that need to Make Things Right had been carried into this life as surely as he had been born into his humanity with uncanny strength and skill with a sword. And beauty. It shone from him like an inner light that gleamed over mahogany hair and dark soulful eyes, spiced with a sweet, lush mouth framed in a manly jaw. That mouth curved up on one side.
“You’re staring,” he observed quietly.
“So are you.”
“But that’s because you are quite,” he paused, reached out and touched my cheek, moving a curl behind my ear. “Quite extraordinary.”
“I was just thinking the same thing about you,” I answered, and slid closer, slipping under the curve of the arm he had rested on the back of the couch. I put down my cup and leaned close, studying the contours of his face and reached up to smooth the errant dark eyebrow over his left eye. “I want to kiss you,” I announced compulsively.
The other corner of his mouth curved up to join the first, like cupid’s bow. “I think I can handle it.” He leaned forward to put down his cup, then gathered me in as though enfolding me in sweet, soft, dark wings, bent his head to the side and his lips met mine with gentle intent. A soft touch, and another, then his mouth opened slightly and I could feel the moist warmth of his tongue touching my lips.
My earlier desperate lust stirred, but this time I deliberately pushed the feeling away, wanting to savor being held, being tenderly and expertly attended to with such care. I have no memory of ever being held like that, of being touched and fondled and sweetly adored, as though I was the center of someone’s universe at that moment. Of course, God’s love is all-encompassing, all-accepting, but there is something about the physical act of being held that is uniquely satisfying, filling a need I wasn’t aware I had until that very moment.
Wallowing in the sensation, I allowed myself to be pressed back and rearranged until I was on my back, his weight pressing me into deep, soft cushions as his hands held my head, caressed my neck, then fingers worked at my shirt buttons until it slipped off my shoulders, exposing my chest. His mouth followed, lips and tongue gently laving my nipples as his warm, moist breath washed over my overheated flesh. A shivering jolt of lust made me gasp and my hips rose of their own accord, pressing into the hard muscle of his torso.
“Easy,” he whispered. “Relax. Enjoy.”
Relax? Relax, he says. Okay. I took a deep breath and once more attempted to let him sooth and kiss and artfully disrobe me. My shirt was mostly off, and my trousers were blissfully open and I accommodated by slightly lifting my hips so he could slide them down my thighs. That sweet mouth moved further down and I closed my eyes, letting my fingers slide through his silky hair as his head bobbed and moved, dipping a wet tongue into my navel, then licking and nipping at my hips while his hands cupped my buttocks like they had been formed specifically for that purpose.
Then he… licked my cock.
I froze and stopped breathing because if I didn’t I was sure I would whimper like a girl.
Then he - ever so slowly - sucked my dick into his mouth, and I truly did whimper like a girl, making some noise between a squeal and a moan since I was utterly uncertain what this human body was going to do. I only knew whatever it did, I had neither the will nor the strength to stop it.
I had a death grip on his head at this point, afraid he would stop, and even more terrified he wouldn’t. He kneaded my ass cheeks, gradually moving his hands closer and closer to the center, and set up an incredible rocking rhythm, helping me move my hips in time to the heavenly sensation of his mouth on my cock, which felt so huge and swollen, the skin was likely to split and burst. It was painful, but felt so good, so delicious, nearly unbearable, and then my whole body flashed with the most incredible feeling of lightness and release. I shouted something incoherent in surprise and joy, contracting around my cock which had become the center of the universe at that moment. Time seemed to stop, along with my breath and my heart, as the sensation washed through me like a huge wave crashing on a warm, sandy beach, then slowly retreated, and by the time I was finally able to take a breath, I flopped back onto the couch, limp and almost unconscious.
Holy St. Peter and Paul… well, not Paul, who for all his faith and devotion to Spreading the Word, was still more than a bit of a bigot.
Oh, shut up, I told myself, wanting to turn off my busy brain long enough to just wallow in the warmth of Duncan’s embrace as he crawled back up my body and gently stroked my hair.
“Worth the wait?” he asked in a near-whisper.
If I’d had the breath or strength, I would have laughed out loud. I had been an Angel of God since Time Began. Worth the wait? I didn’t know how to even begin to answer that question.
I opened my eyes at last to look up into a handsome face flushed and sweaty with passion, and I could feel his cock, hard and throbbing, against my belly. “Can we do it again?” I asked.
..... to be continued