Title: What Kind of Night Has it Been?
Archive: wherever, just let me know.
Notes: Yet another story with no redeeming social value. Plot? What plot?
What Kind of Night Has it Been? by Nomi
It was 2 AM by the time I got to my apartment. I was surprised and not surprised at the same time to see Sam sleeping on my sofa. He and I have a little arrangement - whichever of us leaves work first goes to the other's apartment to wait. We traded keys right after the fiasco following our trip to LA for the Marcus fund-raiser. It was one of those "show there's faith in the future of this relationship" moves, and I think it's worked well. But I would've expected him to have gone to the bedroom by now.
Anyway, there it was, 2 AM, and I was exhausted from a round of "Constitutional Amendment Bingo" with the Leader of the Free World. But walking into my apartment and seeing Sam's coat in the closet, seeing his shoes at the doorway, made me perk up a little. Finding him asleep on the couch went even further to making me happy.
"Hey..." I whispered, wanting to wake him but not scare him.
He opened his eyes. "Hey, yourself," he mumbled.
"Sorry I'm so late. The President wanted to play another one of his trivia games. This time, it was that he'd name the right, and I had to name what amendment to the Constitution granted us that right. He almost got me on granting 18-year-olds the right to vote."
"Twenty-six...ratified in 1971," Sam replied in a sleepy voice.
"Y'know, sometimes you frighten me with all your brilliance," I said.
"Oh, thanks, two-degrees-from-Harvard, Fulbright-scholar man." If he was being snide, it meant that he was becoming alert again. He knows that my education sometimes exceeds my intelligence, and he keeps me honest.
"Enough talk...I expected to find you in bed when I got home, considering what time it is." It worries me when Sam stays up waiting for me - I tend to be in the office later than he does, so besides the guilt I feel about us being at my place more than we're at his, I feel guilt for him being up late waiting for me, and I always wake him when I come in, even if I don't mean to.
"You know I always stay up for you. This is the only time we have when no one's demanding our time, and..." he took a long look at me. "You're really tense, Josh. Come to the bed, and I'll make it all better."
I knew what _that_ meant.
He was up off the couch as quickly as he could be, and then he was leading me to the bedroom. He turned on the lights and guided me over to the bed, where he pushed me down 'til I was sitting on the edge. Then he started removing my clothing, then his own. The only involvement I had in this whole maneuver was lifting my hips slightly when he wanted to remove - in one fell swoop - my slacks and boxers. He was almost clinical in his ministrations - no stray touches, no light brushes with his fingers. If it weren't for the minor swivel of his hips - with his eyes locked on mine - as he removed his own boxers, I'd wonder if he wasn't interested in me anymore. But there was a feral look in his eye that excited me.
"C'mon, Josh, lie on your stomach. You know the drill." I like it when he takes charge occasionally. He doesn't do it very often, which makes the thrill even greater when he does.
As I moved into position, I heard the bedside table drawer open and close, then I felt Sam climb onto the bed and straddle my legs with his own. He put all his weight on his knees, so the only way I knew he was there was from the shifting of weight on the mattress. There was a pause, and then I heard him rubbing his hands together.
He leaned down to me and placed a kiss on the back of my neck. "Ready?" he asked.
"Always." I love this. I can't get enough of the sensation.
"OK." I felt his warm, lotion-moistened hands come down on my shoulders, smoothing out the tension of the day. I could become addicted to Sam's back rubs very easily. He finds all the little stiff places and makes them all feel better. As he moved down my back, along my spine, back up my back, I could feel all the tension flow out. Occasionally, he'd pause to get more lotion, then he'd start in on another part. My arms, my legs, even my feet were given the same treatment.
Then, as he reached my ass, the massage changed, as it always does. The touches became more lingering, more sensual, more intimate, especially as he allowed his fingers to trace the crack between my cheeks, then dip lower. Occasionally, he'd slip a finger partway into me and then retreat. Only the fact that he had me pinned to the bed kept me from writhing.
Just when I thought I couldn't take it any more, he stopped. "Josh? Roll over, 'K?" He moved enough so that I could roll onto my back. Then he started over, starting from my shoulders, down the front of my arms, down my chest, and again down my legs, back to the clinical, methodical touches. And he totally ignored the part of me that was crying out for his touch. Now that we were facing each other, I could see he was as hard as I was, but you wouldn't be able to tell from his touch. After a while, though, his resolve seemed to crumble, and his fingers started straying to my cock, teasing it then moving away. Finally, he gave in.
Re-applying lotion to his hands, he started moving them up and down my erection, coating me in a layer of slickness. Lifting himself up from his perch above my knees, he slowly lowered himself onto me, and as my cock disappeared up inside of his body, I could see his eyes darkening. The tightness and warmth surrounding me was intense. Every time we do it this way, just the look on his face is almost enough to make me come. Then he starts moving.
Sam leaned down and caught my lips with his. As he started undulating his hips, he invaded my mouth with his tongue. This was a frenzied loving, guaranteed to make both of us come soon. I could feel the tension building up in me - a very different tension than the one Sam had worked out of me earlier - and my hands came around and between our bodies to grab Sam's cock. I wanted to feel it when he came.
We came almost together, shouting out each other's name. Finally he climbed off me and, after going into the bathroom for a washcloth to clean us off with, he climbed back into the bed and held me close.
"Thank you for letting me do that. I knew you needed it," he said in a low voice.
"Which part," I asked, "the massage or the...other?"
"Both. You don't let yourself surrender control nearly enough." With that, he kissed me lightly, turned to burrow his face in my chest, and fell asleep. I drifted off soon after.
When we awoke 3 hours later to the buzz of my alarm clock, I felt better than I'd felt in weeks. Sam seemed more relaxed, too.
"Babe?" He's trying out nicknames for me. "Maybe we can try that again tonight? But without the immense tension first?"
It's an idea. Or maybe we'll reverse the roles tonight.
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