WtS: Yazid-companion to Weathering the Storm

Alright, so you’ve written your first smut. I’m proud of ya, ya woman! But the challenge for me is to make an equally smutty companion piece, and I will most definitely “rise to the occasion”, if you catch my drift…So here it is, the companion piece to “Weathering the Storm”, “Weathering the Storm 2: the Untold Story!” Now in new-and-improved Yazid-o-Vision! Whoo-hoo!

[enjoy]

Title: Weathering the Storm—Companion Piece: Yazid’s POV
Author: Monk
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Smex. Lots and lots of graphic smex.


Weathering the Storm—Companion Piece:
Yazid’s POV


I glance at my watch for what feels like the hundredth time, and still it tells me that today is Friday. The light has burned out on the LED display, and I am forced to tilt it forward to see the time, which has just hit 4:37. Two days. Two days of waiting in silent anticipation of the storm about to hit hard on the coast. This is a strange store we’re in; in my line of sight is a selection of butt plugs – some with brilliant peacock feathers and bells on, some with chains and leather. The same pair of handcuffs has been digging into my back for the past three hours.

My partner in crime sits across from me – a blue-eyed bombshell with short tawny hair that looks perfectly soft to run my fingers through (though he plays with it incessantly, almost nervously); a slender, lithe body of sharp angles and lean muscles that begs to be touched and squeezed.

I realize I haven’t said two words to the man I assume owns this shop of oddities, a man who had risked his own safety to get everyone to shelter, though perhaps that was so he could “go down with his ship”, so to speak. And such a pleasurable ship to go down with! I had been rather enjoying the quiet: the gentle hum of florescent lights and the static of the old 50s tube radio between us. As reluctant as I am to break that peacefulness, when I do, my words are soft, my eyes closed in calm.

“What you did back there, it was very brave.” He started, meeting my eyes for the first time as I open my own.

“What I did? Oh, getting that woman out?” He answered, giving a little flip of his hand to dispel my praise, “Pfft, no big deal. I wasn’t about to let a pregnant woman get stuck in what we hope is built to submarine standards…” He stops as I open my eyes, sitting up and giving him my better attention, a grin on my lips.

“Getting them all out after your co-worker panicked?” I say, my voice pitched at a deep rumble. It certainly achieves the desired effect, as he shivers as if from cold. “But you look tired. Maybe you should rest.” My brown eyes sweep his lanky frame, and he grins almost sheepishly, looking down at the ancient radio.

“Not likely. She’s gonna land as a Cat. Five, from what I’ve been hearing.” He straightens and offers a hand to me. A good thing, as I didn’t even know his name. “Jonathan Bello,” he says his name is. An unasked question already answered. I smile, taking his hand firmly, my thumb helping itself to the smooth skin between his thumb and forefinger. His skin is cool and dry, my own skin hot, soothed by the cold.

“Yazid. Yazid Hannan.” I hear myself say, reluctantly releasing his hand. I lean back again, my eyes roaming over the shelves filled with all things leather and chains, all manner of lubes and creams for all manner of positions. Some of these toys, in all my experience I had never seen. Such as the one shaped as a dragon’s head, spikes and all. What possible use could that have?

“An interesting store,” I say finally, cocking my head to the side, “for such a public place.” He nods and looks with fondness at the rows and rows of whips and chains. I grin as he shrugs nonchalantly and chuckles, “They encourage sexual openness. Hey, they help business,” he says to his defence, “so I don’t complain.”

I look behind me to the assortment of lubes. There is my favourite series of lube, ForPlay Succulents, in every flavour. A small glass jar catches my eye; the lube inside is blue and viscous, and it heats my hands as I hold it. “Jonathan’s Wildfire”, the product reads. I smirk, I can feel my grin growing lecherous as I look back up at him, holding his eyes with mine.

“Why, Jonathan, they seem to have something with your name on it…” My eyes travel down his body, lingering in a select few places before returning to the jar in my hands. My mind starts toying with the idea of how he made it as I make another salacious comment, “And it matches your eyes.” I can hear how his breathing increases ever so slightly, the muscles in his arms quivering as if having trouble holding up the weight leaning on them.

Yet his voice is unnervingly calm when he responds, “Madame Zhiery wanted something…unique to give to her friends. She asked me to produce a cream that enhanced certain…activities.” He takes the jar from my hands, leaning over me to place it back where I took it from, and in that lingering reach, I feel the heat from his body, the erotic scent of musk and cologne, the spice of cinnamon soap used yesterday in the shower. It is a taste of something much bigger, a piece of a pie that I would rather devour whole. And perhaps this is the straw that broke the camel’s back, for before I know it, I have pushed Jonathan onto his back on the tiled floor, and am straddling his hips, smirking down at him.

“Oh?” I ask, the word a deep and husky noise, scarcely a word at all. A few strands of that teasing hair fall into his eyes, and I reach careful fingers out to brush it away. He neither turns away in revulsion, nor pushes me away, and my bravado is thus strengthened. In fact, most unexpectedly, he grins up at me, brighter than ever. “People wanted more of it, so I started selling it here. Makes quite a profit, and is one of their best sellers.” He answers, a slight quiver in his voice.

My hand slips down his side to rest on his hip. The bone there sticks out slightly, but not unpleasantly so, instead making an inviting hollow to explore. I lean forward, bringing our lips closer and closer together, searching his icy eyes for any sign of disgust. “Have you tried it?” My words are barely above a whisper, but as close as we are, it is impossible not to hear. I lean that barely an inch closer and capture his lips with mine, dipping my tongue into the wet heat to taste him. He tastes of spicy Jose Cuervo, and coconut and lime, a bit of salt lingering just underneath his tongue, his drink of choice—and mine as well—the Coconut Margarita. He moans deliciously, and a little chill goes up my spine.

I reach behind me with one hand, blindly grabbing for the pair of handcuffs that had been murder on my back, and finally finding them. They are gaudy things with fake rhinestones imbedded into them, and they are painted hot pink. But they will work. I pull his arms above his head and around the pole holding the building’s wires inside without releasing that amazing mouth, and snap the cuffs around his wrists, successfully binding him to the column. The power is cut to the building as I lean back, causing me to jump slightly. I reach into my pocket, pulling out the cheap thirty-cent lighter I had bought earlier that day when my Zippo ran out of fuel, and after four clicks it lights, igniting a small flicker of flame, just enough to cast everything into sharp relief from the darkness. I see a selection of scented candles a few shelves up, and reach an arm out to grab a couple, lighting them and setting them on a shelf near us.

I unbutton my white shirt and cast it aside, kneeling back in front of Jonathan, who takes in my chest appreciatively, and I grin at the scrutiny. He looks as though he is about to drool. I grab the same jar of “Wildfire” from the shelf, putting it in reach as I return to that delectable feast stretched out before me. I press my fingers to the bulge in his jeans, thumbing open the button and pulling down the zipper to release the throbbing member, already hard and leaking for me as I rub it up and down, pressing each finger in turn to the head, the pads already slippery and sticky. I lick a trail along his collar, dipping into the hollow of his throat, encouraged by each moan and groan, the noises pooling heat in my gut, and making me harder than ever for this stranger.

I pull away, straightening my back from the awkward position, when I hear him whisper, “Oh, dear God…” out of frustration. I laugh, looking down into those eyes, nearly all black now, with just a ring of ice around the dilated pupils. “If you’re not careful, I’ll turn you into a religious man.” I smirk as he looks at me questioningly, and reach down with one hand to tug at his pants and pull them off. “You didn’t think I’d let you have all the fun, did you?” I unbutton my own jeans and stand to pull them off, pulling my cock free of my boxers and setting them both aside. His eyes go wide, and he shivers, his own member twitching as I strip.

“Sweet Jesus, Yazid. Get here, now.” His growl seems to surprise both of us as I spread his thighs to rest between them. The lube is warm in my hand and smells slightly of coconut, a scent I will forever associate with tonight. I rub it on myself, my erection hot and heavy, and I can’t help but pump it a few times in my fist before sliding in, in one smooth motion, and he is so tight, oh, God, he is so tight, and so hot, hotter with that amazing lube. His muscles tense around me, and a long groan tears itself from my throat, but it is with careful precision that I ease his long legs around my torso, pulling out and pushing in once at a new angle that makes him cry out as I hit that sensitive bundle of nerves inside him. I run my hands over his lean hips and down his washboard stomach as I pump into him, hard and fast, and it’s so good, and so hot.

He throws his head back as I run my fingers down his taut neck and he arches his back into my touch. I stop my thrusting for a moment, wrapping long fingers around the base of his cock. I am very limber, and I have often done gymnastics because of it. But I prefer to put my skills to better use…

I lean forward, with my dick still buried deep inside him, and take his own engorged cock into my mouth, relaxing my throat and taking him to the hilt, sucking hard on the hot, silky flesh. My teeth graze his skin and he gives a long groan. It takes a great deal of concentration to do this, but for the pleasure it gives my partner, it is well worth the effort. Now the only noises he makes are gasps and moans, and endless pleas for “harder”, and “faster”. I pull out to give his cock exclusive attention. I lick and suck it like a lollypop, deep throating him and humming, the low sound echoing in my chest.

I release his wet dick to the cold air, and he shivers again, little goosebumps rising on his skin. I push back into his already-prepared entrance, and, engulfed in such wet heat, it takes only a few thrusts for me to climax, my back arching in exquisite pleasure. I rest on my elbows for a few moments, my softening cock slipping out of him, and at his frustrated groan, I lean over and kiss him slowly, winding my tongue around his, and as I break away, there is a strand of saliva between us, which breaks and leaves a trail down his chest. I smile, wiping my hand down the path the saliva took, stopping at his leaking cock. “It’s not over yet,” I say, a promise of things to come. Literally.

He clenches his hands around the pole as I trail butterfly kisses down that taut neck, down his chest to taste the moist, warm skin I reveal one button at a time, pushing his shirt aside. I take him into my mouth again, his dick throbbing and pulsing heat around my lips, my cheeks hollowed with the force of my sucking. I bob up and down, faster and faster, pressing warm, slick hands to his hips to keep him from bucking into my mouth and choking me. He comes calling out my name in a hoarse scream, a long, searing stream, and I swallow it all, licking his soft member clean. I reach up to kiss him again, letting him taste himself, the salty flavour mixing with the taste of coconut in his mouth.

I pull the key off the handcuffs and unlock them, letting his wrists free.

“Yazid,” he pants, sending a shockwave to my groin, “please tell me you’re in Houston for more than the duration of the storm?” I smile at him, a little sadly, and, after pulling the discarded clothing over to make a makeshift bed, lay down and pull him into my arms, spooning up behind him. My dick fits just so into his ass, my body moulded to his. I tuck my arm around his waist and breath into his hair, a thin sheen of sweat making the cinnamon and the remains of his hair gel mingle with musk, a heady scent, a familiar scent. He falls asleep in my arms long before I do, but when I finally drift, the candles have long gone out.


When I awake next, I open my eyes to find him still there, in my arms, a comforting grey shape in the darkness, and my sleep-befuddled mind can’t quite comprehend it, as usually my partners leave in the morning. But my dick doesn’t care to argue. I push into him again, still slick and relaxed. He wakes with a groan, pressing sleepy, sloppy kisses onto the pads of my fingers as I fuck him, slow and unhurriedly, as gentle as the kisses I drop on his neck and shoulders, as gentle as my hand that reaches around to tease his nipples to hardness, stroking that soft, warm skin of his chest. And when we come, it is together, and he whispers my name as I breath out a long sigh, coming deep inside him.


I didn’t realize that I had fallen back asleep until I jump awake as a shrill female voice comes in over the radio. I look over to see Jonathan’s naked form kneeling in front of the radio. His hair is stuck up at odd angles, and I smirk. I can’t quite make out what they say, but in the misty light filtering in through the thick glass high up on the walls, I can see him blush at something, every inch of skin turning red. I grin again, and my eyes slide shut as he comes near again; and as he lowers himself onto me, I can tell that this is only the beginning of something very, very good.


[the end]