Passion, Proof, Power

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Passion Proof Power

Chapter 2





To my downstair neighbors, I'm really sorry about waking you up at three this morning. My apartment in Montreal is not my soundproof apartment in Helsinki. So when I want to hear how this riff sounds like, yeah, I plug my guitar in the amp and play until I'm happy with it. I will, however, be more careful later on.



At most, I can invoke the "I'm new in town and my French sucks" argument. Well, it does! I know like three words: 'yes', 'no' and 'beer'.



Wait. There's this full sentence, 'I want more'. This one will come in really handy.



I've been here for six days. Give me a fucking break.



I can't say nothing good came out of that though. Metal music covers the sound of two guys having sex pretty fucking well – no pun intended, I swear. Even the act of fucking itself wasn't intended.



I now live above a girl and a guy in their late twenties or early thirties. I talked to the girl for less than five minutes when I was on the stairs yesterday. She's Asian, Northern Chinese or something. She's taller than I am. Then again, from my six days in North America, looks like at a meter sixty-five, I'm the average height for females. Except I'm male, if you've heard otherwise.



I'm a dwarf compared to her husband, or boyfriend, or roommate or whatever he is to her. He could be her adopted brother for all I know. Those things I know add up to three: one, they speak French. Two, he fucks her – I heard them two nights ago. Three, he fucks men too.



Anyways. My original point was the following. I woke them up with my guitar and the guy knocked on my door in pajama pants. All six-feet-something of him, rippling muscles and sleep-tousled chestnut hair with blond highlights. I was on my fifth coffee in four hours and quite horny. I gave him one hell of a blank stare when he spoke to me in his mother tongue.



I interrupted his drivel, lifted my hands in the air in defense, and gave him the best puppy look I could pull off. "Sorry, I don't speak French..."



His lips formed a silent 'oh' and his brows knit for a short moment. "Oops, didn't know, sorry. You realize it's three a.m. Right?" He had a slight local accent. It went almost unnoticed until he said "three" like "tree".



I nodded.



"As much as I like guitar myself, I gotta get up for work in two hours," he continued as he looked me over. It was one of those obviously drawn-out looks, like in porno flicks, when the protagonists see each other for the first time. "So... don't make me call the cops."



Yeah I heard that one before. "Alright, sorry. Well, thanks for letting me know." I moved over to close the door, but he stopped it with his knee. I tilted my head and recoiled in surprise. "What's wrong, hotstuff?"



The hunk smirked. The predator smirk, with the suggestively quirked brows. His deep brown eyes settled on my lower body. I followed his gaze.



Oh so that's how he knew. I'm fucking hard.



Does that count has some sort of gaydar?



I returned the grin, opened the door again and watched as he slithered in. "What's your name?"



"Kevin." Slightly exotic to my ears. Name fits him for some odd reason. "Yours?"



"Can call me Sammi." I marked a pause as some thought ran through my head. "Let me guess. You won't call the cops if I let you fuck me?"



He laughed out loud. "I told you I wasn't gonna call them." He paused and ran his eyes over my body again. "But I'll take the invitation if it stands."



Yes. Yes, it stands.



"Hell yeah."



I don't care if I sound like a slut. I need sex. Since my last boyfriend dumped me the moment I finally settled down in his homeland... well, yes. I'll take that random opportunity and I'll damn well enjoy it. What's stopping me?



That's right. Nothing.



I motioned towards my bedroom. On the way there, I shed my pants, one of the two clothes I still wore. I also grabbed my sound system's remote and turned on some music. Folk metal may not the best music to fuck to, but I thought it'd block out most of my moans. I threw the remote on the couch, and led the way to my bed.



I nearly giggled when he grabbed me by the waist and pulled me against him with his large, calloused hands. When we reached the bed, I let myself fall down and sprawled on it. He climbed above me, his athletic body towering over mine. Damn, he looked good under whatever little light I had in my bedroom.



Kevin brought his head down and trailed kisses along my collarbone, as his hands mindlessly worked at my underwear. I reached for his pajama pants and pulled them down as far as I could. He broke away and got to his knees in order to wiggle out of those pants, and I couldn't help but grin at the eight-inch-long hard cock between his legs. Mmm-mmm, I was in for a treat.



My eyes were glue to it, and I blindly extended my left arm towards the end table. I opened the drawer and fished out a condom. No way I was gonna go bareback with some one-night-stand. I dangled the package in front of his brown eyes.



He frowned. "I get tested every six months-"



"I don't give a fuck. I don't know you." I shot a glance at my erection, then at his. "We both clearly want this to happen, so suit up."



Kevin sighed. He grabbed the condom. I had to turn my head to get my hand onto the correct bottle, which I handed to him. "My ex wasn't that big."



That stroke his ego. He smirked and quickly put the rubber on, then squeezed some lube over his fingers. I love when they know what to do, I've never been a good teacher when it's time to show others how to fuck another man.



I hadn't been fucked in a little while, not since my ex left Finland after the Christmas holidays. His fingers felt different than those I was used to. Kevin's were longer, a little bonier, calloused, warm... He was quick to stretch me, but it was intense. Every hit landed on the right spot. I grasped the sheets with my hands and let out a loud, wanton moan. My head arched backwards and I closed my eyes.



I let him have his way with me. One finger became two, two became three. He moved them in and out, turned them around inside of me. I was still conscious enough to bite my lower lip and stop myself from moaning even louder, but it wasn't going to last.



Kevin didn't wait for me to say anything. I cracked my eyes open enough to witness him entering me. He crawled over me and drew his body closer to mine. His shaft invaded me. I cringed and groaned in pain. He didn't stop, but he did slow his pace down. I wouldn't have wanted him to stop.



He slowly pulled out. A teasing smile grew onto his lips. I bucked my hips and bared my teeth. Motherfucker, I'm not made of porcelain; fuck me!



The next thrust came strong and fast. My back arched. I grasped the sheets again. My breath hitched, my eyes widened. I let go of the sheets and wrapped my arms around his broad shoulders. I was sold already. I wanted more, much more. I wanted to be fucked mercilessly, relentlessly. I pushed myself over his cock and took in as much as I could.



"Fuck me..."



He grinned again. His head hovered two inches or so away from mine. He bent slightly to kiss me, and at the same time, shoved in hard. My moan came out muffled against his lips. His right hand roamed my chest, my sides. He brushed over my nipples with his fingers. My body jerked in pleasure.



It wasn't his main goal. He kept going down and soon enough, I was thrusting in his hand. His calloused digits ran along my blood-gorged member. I shivered under the touch.



Every hard push hit just right. At this point, I couldn't restrain myself anymore. I wasn't moaning – I was now screaming, begging him to take me even harder, to make me his. He nearly crushed me with his weight, and I loved it. His thrusts became rougher. His bated breath blew against my neck and reduced me to a delirious, trembling and whining mess of a man.



Kevin's hand went up and down on my erection. I was so damn close to release, but I didn't want to. I wanted to lose myself in this man, his musky scent. I dug my nails in his shoulders' skin and bucked my hips once more.





My lips parted as my body went against my wishes. The heat in my groin spread out in my limbs. I arched my back and held Kevin firmly between my legs. My toes and fingers curled. My vision faded to white.



There was this short moment of absolute bliss; enveloped in warmth, I floated in the void. I was aware of everything and nothing at the same time. Kevin's strong arms were wrapped around my frame, his lips were pressed against mine, his tongue explored my mouth...



But ecstacy never lasts long enough. He pulled away from me. My arms fell to my side, akin to a rag doll. I still felt good – damn, I just got fucked – but somehow... empty. Literally. Kevin pulled out of me. The mattress shifted as he got off the bed. He discarded the condom and threw it in the garbage bin by my night stand.



He bent over to grab his pants. He's got a really nice, firm ass. He turned to face me and said something, but I didn't hear shit. I just saw his lips move. I assumed it was "That was tight" or "Glad we met"... shit, it could have been "I love lamp" for all I cared. I still stared at him with that awkward toothy out-of-it grin I get after a really good fuck.



He left almost immediately after. That's what we both wanted, I guess. I can totally do without the lame pillow talk and the cuddling. It was a random fuck, and I have no clue if it'll happen anymore with this guy.



But hey... I know where he lives.



~



I stayed in bed for a good half hour after he was gone. Tried to sleep. Didn't do shit. I still had enough energy to run a marathon, but I don't think my ass would have appreciated it. So I went back out, took a quick shower, and wound up on my couch, guitar in hand.



Then... I lost track of time. Next thing I knew, the alarm clock in my bedroom was ringing. That left me with one hour flat to cook breakfast – oatmeal with strawberries, coffee – eat and get ready for my interview. I left my apartment earlier than I had planned, just in case. The possibilities I would get lost were high, even with a GPS and maps loaded on my phone. Also, there's the parking issue, the sudden need for more coffee, the traffic...



I don't necessarily floor it while I drive, but I'll admit I'm a little nervous. And the other drivers don't help. The light just turned green and the guy behind me is already all over his horn. For fuck's sake. I've been here for less than a week and for the first few days, I mostly kept to my little area. I'm not used to the layout, I don't know where the exits are or the speed limits by heart.



But I managed to make it to the correct office, alive and well. No accidents, not a scratch on my rented car, and with twenty minutes to spare. So where's a Starbucks when you need one? I thought they were all over the place, and I could really use another coffee. I don't wanna fall asleep during the interview and even less when I drive back home. Well, I say Starbucks, but any coffee shop would do the trick.



I found a donut shop two blocks away. Nice little joint. Full of people. Not surprising though, it's still morning. I was waiting in line when my phone rang. Ieva, of course. Who else would call me so early?



"Where are you?" No 'Good morning Sammi!' or anything along the lines. Always business with her.



"Grabbing a coffee before going to that interview." Did she see my eyes roll? I bet she did.



"Just making sure you hadn't passed out and missed it." How nice of her, worrying about my well-being. "Don't screw it up, please... try to keep it clean."



So damn nice. Really, do I screw up often? Okay, there was this time I was completely drunk and threw up on the interviewer. A video interview too. I can guess she's also referring to my coming out, except I wonder how that messed it up...



"Don't worry. I'll be good." I shook my head and scoffed to myself. "Look, can I call you back after the interview or something? I haven't had my coffee yet and there's only two guys ahead of me..."



I heard her sigh. "Don't fuck up. Call me when you're done." And that was it. She hung up.



The guy ahead of me stepped forward, now first in line. At the exact moment he moved away, something dawned on me.



My own manager has no faith in me.



She's the only person I have in this country – not counting my ex-boyfriend here – and yet, she doesn't seem to want to deal with me. I'm far away from my best friends, from my family, from my homeland.



I don't think I've ever felt so alone.



~



Raise Your Voice's office is on the sixth floor of a small-sized tower. It's a little on the fancy side, but the atmosphere is warm. Wooden floors, modern red leather armchairs, glass panels here and there, potted palms. The only thing that totally gives it away as a gay-focused office are the posters and oversized magazine covers featuring clean and tanned Speedo-clad hunks.



With my skinny frame, I don't think I'll make it on their cover. Not like I mind – I like the hunks too.



I looked around me, eyes wide, brows frowned slightly. With my long hair, the hoodie under my worn-out leather jacket and my baggy cargo pants, I felt out of place. And yet, this room alone intrigued me.



I've known for a long time that I was gay. It was natural to me, and I've never really questionned it. So I'll admit I'm not exactly comfortable within the gay community, where the idea of 'you are different' is what makes you one of them. And as I've made clear by now, I'm not a Speedo model. There's always been a feeling that I don't... belong to the community aspect of it. My environment is the metal music industry, clearly.



This interview can't hurt me, or so I think. Even though I don't "fit" in, in my opinion, I've got nothing to lose and everything to gain. I know when to seize opportunities, and this is what I'll do. I'll seize the fuck out of it.



After a solid minute of assessing my surroundings, I went over to the receptionist, a little lady in her twenties with brown hair tied in a neat ponytail.

Why do they always speak French to me? Of course, the fact that Finnish is my mother tongue isn't stamped on my forehead, but I read Montreal had this habit of using English at first... Must be my luck. Or lack thereof.



"May I help you sir?"



I snapped out of my daydreaming and walked to her desk. Couldn't help this stupid 'I have no clue what I'm doing here' smile as I replied. "Yes. My name is Samuli Holopainen, I have an interview with...."



My face went blank.



Oh shit. What's his name?



I got a hold of my cellphone and flipped through my appointment list. I knew it was a guy, but for the life of me, I couldn't fucking remember his name.



Okay, I found it.



"Marc..."



How the fuck do I pronounce his last name?!



"Lef... Lefeb..."



I give up. I need French lessons. Pronounciation help, at least.



She saw me struggling. "Lefebvre?" She prounounced it like 'lefeivre' or something close to that. I would have never have guessed it. This is nothing like Finnish, or English for that matter. And they say Finnish is complicated...



I nodded. "Yes, yes. I'm sorry, I haven't been in Quebec for a long time..." And I look like a total idiot.



She giggled and motioned to the armchairs. "Alright, please have a seat. I'll tell him you're in. It won't take long."



"Thank you." That's another one I gotta learn. I sat down a few chairs away from the desk and grabbed a random magazine from the coffee table.



Let's hope this'll go well. I've got too many things to do than die by Ieva's hands.



~



It was around two in the afternoon when I stepped in my apartment. With the TV and the sound system both off, it felt awkward. Too silent. I'm not in the mood for silence. Right now, all I want is someone else here. If I were home, I knew exactly which areas or which bars to hit; but I'm not. I wouldn't mind another one-night-stand.



In fact, I was tempted to go downstairs and see if Kevin was there. I'm good at bullshitting excuses. I'm not crazy enough to right-out say that I want him to fuck me again. Unless the girl wasn't there. That would have made things easier.



But I didn't. Instead, I sat down on my couch and grabbed my guitar. I didn't play long, only a few minutes. I couldn't focus. This time around, coffee wouldn't cut it. I needed sleep. Before heading to my bedroom, I turned the TV on. I was still on my own, but the background noise provided some sort of presence.



Naked, I slipped in bed. I don't remember the moment when my head hit the pillow.



~



I may not be profficient in French, but I know when someone's having fun. Screams of pleasure are universal. And believe me, my downstairs neighbors were experiencing a lot of it. Through the steady rhythm of the bed, I could hear her moan, cry, shout, asking for more. He talked to her as well, but I couldn't make anything out.



Somehow, a part of me was jealous. I wanted him. I wanted anyone, really – someone who could make me scream like her. Some man to dominate me, day or night. I craved hands all over my body, my hair pulled roughly, a nice, thick cock deep inside my ass...



And not even ten meters below me, there was a couple happily fucking. I let out a frustrated groan, just shy of a scream.



For the second time today, loneliness overwhelmed me. I reached for my pillow and hurled it at the wall in desperation.



Just shut up, bitch. Fucking shut up...



I sat up. My breath hitched again, my body shook and tears stung my eyes. I wrapped my arms around my chest. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine they belonged to another - that the hands were bigger; greedier... hungrier. No matter how I tried, no matter how hard I wished, it wouldn't replace any other man's embrace, touch and scent.



I fell back to my mattress. I had enough – I broke down.