Wicked Games
Just This Once

       “Rowen, you know that dance clubs are nothing but a breeding ground for sex, disease and drugs,” Sage Datier chided as Rowen, fresh out of the shower and dressed in nothing but a towel around his hips, tore through his wardrobe looking for something to wear to the club that he was forcing Sage to attend.

       “I know,” the young Hashiba replied, grabbing a shirt and giving it a whiff. “Damn. It’s dirty.” He tossed it aside and continued his archaeological excavation.

       “Can’t we go somewhere else?” the blond said despairingly. “Like maybe a nice restaurant or something?”

       “Babe, we’ve been to every nice restaurant in town twice,” Rowen snapped. “The receptionists’ second cousins know us by first name. I’m gonna go crazy if I don’t blow some of this wild energy.”

       “There’s other places,” Sage insisted. “Instead of some hovel of a warehouse down on the shady end of town, in the heart of the ghetto near the docks, for Christ’s sake.”

       “The risk is half the fun,” Rowen gave a blue-eyed wink at Sage mischievously. “Come on. Just this once.”

       The swordsman crossed his arms glared at Rowen, who only smiled wider. “Once,” Sage stated, and Rowen hissed gleefully, sticking his tongue out. “But something terrible always happens the one time you decide to do something risky.”

       “Well, don’t jinx us.” Rowen pulled out a black shirt out of the depths of his closet and chanted, “Pleasebeclean, pleasebeclean.” He took a sniff and smiled. “Aaah. It’s clean.” He held it up for Sage’s inspection.

       Sage’s face vaulted and he muttered, “You’re not serious.”

       Rowen beamed.

       “Anything but your Chilly Willy shirt. How long have you had that? It must be three sizes too small.”

       “All the betta,” came the muffled reply as he jerked the shirt over his head. “Now, if I can just find those . . . ah!” He pulled a brown pair of pants from the hanger and tore the towel off his waist. Sage was quiet for a few moments as he watched his lover hop into the pants with some difficulty, bouncing around and jiggling quite a lot.

       “Aren’t you forgetting to put on underwear?” he asked as Rowen had the things pulled up around his hips. Rowen looked at Sage as if he were crazy.

       “You kiddin’? Ya neva wear underwear to a club, it’s part of the etiquette!”

       “Well, forgive me,” the blond snorted. “You could develop a nasty rash from those pants.”

       “Nah, see, these are clubbin’ pants,” Rowen chirped. “They have a nice, soft interior that allows maximum ventilation and a little elastic layer to keep ya from hangin’ all ovah the place when ya move around. These pants were meant to dance.”

       Sage gave them another eye. “They look kind of small . . . Rowen, you animal. You stole those from the UPS man, didn’t you?”

       “They stretch,” said Rowen casually as he buttoned his fly and turned around to show his lover just how nice the back view was, which was so nice that Sage didn’t make any further remarks on Rowen’s outfit. He did look rather provocative in extremely tight clothes, especially with a few inches of bare midriff showing from underneath a too-small shirt.

       “Now let’s see . . .” Rowen breezed throughout the room he and Sage shared and gathered the rest of his outfit. “I got my Docs, I gotta wear my chain . . . babe, have you seen my hemp necklace, the one with the ball bearings on it? Hey, we gotta get you fixed up.” Rowen was back at his closet, madly digging again.

       Sage muttered, “I’m not dressing up for this.”

       “Oh, yes you are.” The azure haired young man withdrew a pair of white pants and tossed them at Sage. “Here, Angelface.”

       “Rowen, why have I never seen you wear these clothes?”

       “They’re my nice clubbin’ rags. I don’t wear ‘em unless I’m clubbin’, and since I’ve been with you I haven’t been out that much.” He turned his attention to his dresser. “Now, if I can just find my damn Dickies shirt, you’ll be set. Ah, here it is.”

       A dark purple shirt landed in Sage’s arms and he looked at Rowen distressfully.

       “Well? Ya gonna try ‘em on or what?”

       Sage sighed and began to remove his clothes; Rowen grinned in triumph and went about gathering all his “clubbin’ gear” while Sage got dressed.

       “Rowen, are all of your outfits this small or am I just gaining weight?”

       Rowen turned around and caught his breath. Snug fitting pants coupled with a dark workshirt . . . all the attention was drawn to the pants, and it was definitely enough to make any person stare. “One prob,” the blond’s lover said, stepping closer and undoing three buttons on Sage’s shirt, one on the bottom and two on top. “The less buttons buttoned, the betta,” he murmured coyly, leaning close and placing a warm kiss on Sage’s lips. “Ya look sexy.”

       “I still don’t want to go.”

       “You can be such a pussy sometimes, Seiji.”

       “Says the boy who spends nearly seventy percent of his time underneath me.”

       “Says the boy who spent the first years of his life wearin’ a skirt,” Rowen retorted good-naturedly, and Sage colored slightly. To retaliate, he put his arms around Rowen’s hips and grabbed his ass with both hands tightly, giving his cheeks a scolding clench to tell Rowen that somebody was being bad.

       Rowen squealed in alarm and jumped to his toes, throwing his arms around Sage’s neck and laughing with bubbly delight. “You trick,” the archer growled teasingly into Sage’s ear.

       “Trick loves a treat,” the blond replied darkly, smiling.

       “Good one. I like that.” Rowen’s tongue darted out to graze the warm flesh of the blond’s earlobe before retreating as Rowen drew away from Sage. “Now let’s go clubbin’ and lovin’.”

       Sage sighed in despair. “God . . . damn it. Fuck me.”

       Rowen patted his cheek. “All in good time, muffin. Let’s book it.”

       “I hate techno music,” Sage grumbled as he followed Rowen to the crowded doorway that flashed many colored lights beyond its threshold. Sage was wincing disdainfully as the thunderous, organ-rattling beat of the speakers fell upon his sensitive ears.

       “You’ll get used to it,” Rowen replied nonchalantly, flashing his ID to the 300 pound bouncer and leading Sage through the doorway.

       Inside, the music was deafening. The whole place smelled like alcohol and sweat and pungent body sprays. The heat was unbearable. Did this place even have air conditioning? It was crowded, it was hot and humid and dark and all Sage wanted to do was to go back outside into the cool night air. Crowds always made him uncomfortable, especially crowds of strange people.

       Over the pounding of the music and the screaming of the mass of churning bodies, Sage shouted, “I WAS WRONG ABOUT TECHNO MUSIC!”

       “YEAH?” Rowen shouted back.

       “YEAH! I FUCKING HATE IT!” Sage had a headache already. “IT’S LIKE AN ALARM CLOCK WITH A BEAT! ERRNT ERRNT ERRNT ERRNT!” He mimicked the music blasting on the speakers.

       “IT’S THE MUSIC OF LOVE!” Rowen replied, grinning and wrapping an arm around Sage’s waist, giving his lover a coy nudge with his hips.

       “LOVE, MY ASS!” Sage yelled, getting elbowed by someone with a really sharp bone. “I WILL IF YOU WANT!” Rowen laughed.

       “IT’S MUSIC YOU FUCK TO!”

       “EXACTLY! C’MERE!” Being unusually aggressive in his propositions that night, Rowen latched his arms around Sage’s waist and pulled him into the melee of screaming flesh that was called the dance floor in another language. Sage smirked as Rowen began to dip and slide to the heavy rhythm, and snaked his arms over Rowen’s shoulders, leaning closer and shouting not so loudly, “I thought you liked being loved.”

       “I do!” Rowen hooted, pulling Sage closer to him. “But sometimes ya just gotta fuck!”

       Rowen released his hands from Sage’s waist and spun him off of his arm, where he collided into a girl with purple hair who took no notice. And like a yo-yo, Rowen rolled Sage right back into his arms, holding him with the blond’s back pressed to Rowen’s chest, one arm around his waist.

       “Techno is not the music of love!” Sage screamed as he and his lover launched into a series of rather knee-spraining and obscene dance moves. “The TANGO is the music of love!”

       “This isn’t techno!” Rowen replied at the top of his lungs. “It’s INDUSTRIAL ELECTRONIC!”

       “What EVER the hell it is, I HATE IT!”

       Rowen nestled his face in the crook of Sage’s neck and murmured, “Quitcher bitchin’.” He slipped his hands into the front pockets of the blond’s pants and melted against him in a perfect clasp. Sage couldn’t help but smile to himself at Rowen’s rowdy dominance; he’ll most definitely want to be top tonight he thought as he raised an arm above his head, causing a little skin to show, and placed it on the back of Rowen’s neck.

       For a long while they just gave themselves up to the music and danced, pausing to catch their breath at the melding transition of each song into the next and to make visits to the wet bar, ordering non-alcoholic beverages before returning to the magical floor. There was something wonderfully private about the moment; no one was paying attention to them: two obviously gay blokes hanging off of each other and dancing so lewdly. It was captivating. The music filled Sage’s body completely, a steady beat underneath all the electronic noise like a rhythmic heartbeat that he felt pulsing in every corner of his soul. He was dancing, yet he didn’t know how. He was moving in ways he had never moved before, bringing something out within him that he had never known about. And suddenly, Sage loved this music.

       “Liking it yet?” Rowen asked, reading Sage’s thoughts.

       The blond nodded. “I’m getting this strange feeling. Almost like solitude . . .”

       “These clubs are the only place ya can go to where you’re completely alone but surrounded by people. Here you’re just a face, surrounded by otha faces. No one cares, no one knows, no one cares to know . . .”

       “Romantic,” Sage murmured, reaching up with his other hand and locking his fingers behind Rowen’s neck. The azure haired young man slowly began to run his hands over Sage’s chest, pads of warmth that made the delicate golden hair on Sage’s arms stand on end. He felt his pulse quicken and a heady, languid sort of fog seeped into his mind. Their bodies never stopped moving with the rhythm of the music, which had turned from fast paced and grinding to slow, deliberate and profound without them knowing. It was so beautiful . . .

       Sage closed his eyes and melted with Rowen, becoming one being with two different minds, moving and flowing to the same beat, one life, one love. God, I should have gone drag for this, Sage thought momentarily. I could have at least worn a skirt or something . . . and Rowen could be fucking me right now.

       He looked at the other moving bodies around him. They were in their own worlds, just like he and Rowen, and probably wouldn’t be aware of two people having sex on the dance floor. Damn, he should have worn a skirt. Being against Rowen was pleasant but it could only satisfy so much — Rowen must have been thinking likewise, for Sage could feel his lover’s hardness growing against the back of his thigh, pressing into his flesh. Sage was well aware of his own need but was loathe to leave the dance floor to consummate their desires. He wanted to have it right here, in this crowd of nobody, with this music and this pulse and this life . . . to have all that would be magical.

       Sage winced and groaned, “Rowen . . . let’s-”

       “I know,” Rowen completed his lover’s thought. “C’mon.”

       They reluctantly separated and made their way to the door hand in hand, heart in heart. Once outside and into the cool air of the night, Sage shivered. It had been so warm in the club. So hesitant to go in, now so hesitant to leave.

       Rowen glanced at his watch. “Damn. It’s already three.”

       Sage looked astounded. “No way. No fucking way. Your watch is broken, Rowen. We couldn’t have been in there for more than a half hour.”

       Rowen draped his arm around Sage’s shoulders as they walked to the car. “That’s the powah of those places. Time seems to stand still while the resta the world moves on. That’s why clubs do such a business — nobody evah wants to leave. Did ya feel it while ya were in there?”

       Sage nodded. “Yeah. It was a little scary . . . lost control.”

       “I know people that live fa clubs, that it’s all that they do, the only thing that gets them up in the mornin’ and keeps them alive and kickin’. It’s as addictive as any drug.” Rowen stopped as they reached their car and nodded toward the shabby looking establishment. “It’ll be open for anotha three hours or so, if ya still wanna dance . . .”

       A blond head shook. “Nah. Too much of a good thing is bad.” Sage winked and let his voice fall to a dark hush. “Besides. I am . . . seriously . . . in need of a good fucking.”

       Rowen’s eyes twinkled with delight. “Does this mean I get to be top tonight?”

       “I don’t care what you are, I just . . . God, just get in the car, Rowen! We’re wasting time.”

       “But we’ve got all night.”

       “You think. I’m about to cream my pants right now.”

       “Hot damn,” Rowen uttered and grinned. “I gotta take you clubbin’ more often.”

       Everyone had long since called it a night at Mia’s place and Sage and Rowen had to sneak and freak if they didn’t want to wake anyone up; it was all they could do to keep their hands off of each other until that bedroom door closed behind them and Sage jumped into Rowen’s arms, wrapping his legs around his lover’s hips zealously and kissing him with a hungry passion.

       Rowen reached around and clutched the ass of Sage’s jeans with greedy hands, stumbling and bumbling through the dark to reach a bed, any bed. Rowen was ready to just slam the blond down on the rug and start boning away when his leg met a soft mattress; he deposited Sage onto its surface like a sack of potatoes and was hastily undoing his pants while Sage tore his own clothes off.

       It had been a long time since either of them had “banged”, so to speak. True, they had had intercourse, but it was always slow and tender, they had made love. After a night like tonight, there would be no tender touches or soft caresses. No, tonight was a night when both of them were to slip back into the carnal history of their relationship and fuck like nothing else mattered. Like Rowen himself had said, being loved is nice but sometimes ya just gotta fuck.

       Rowen dropped himself down onto Sage’s partially de-clothed body and madly began to kiss him in audible, wet, fleshy sounds that could have been mistaken for someone laying waste to a really tasty lollipop. And they were not afraid to hurt each other, borderline violent in their ecstasy. Rowen crushed himself against Sage while the blond raked his back with rigid fingers, drawing moans of both pain and pleasure from each other.

       There would be no foreplay this time, only sex, rough, dirty and delicious. Rowen sat up and grabbed Sage’s long legs, pulling the blond forward to meet his aching length and enjoying the helpless gasps for breath that filled the room. Holding Sage’s hips off the mattress, Rowen pressed himself against his puckered orifice and thrust himself inside, gritting his teeth and setting his jaw determinedly.

       Sage shouted without thinking and Rowen clapped his hand over his mouth, silencing him. “Shh! Ya gonna wake everyone up before we’re done.”

       “Then hurry,” Sage mumbled around the hand.

       Rowen needed no heeding; he rammed himself into the blond again and again and again, relishing the tight heat that pressed and stroked against him with each thrust in and out, the ring of muscle that spasmed and shuddered with each drive forward, the mewling of the pleasured blond beneath him.

       Suddenly, Sage grabbed Rowen about the shoulders and pulled him down, using his weight as a counter to roll his lover over onto his back and take up position straddling Rowen’s hips.

       “Oh, God yes . . . this is nice,” he uttered huskily as he seated himself onto Rowen’s full length, rolling his hips around to demonstrate the internal pleasure that Rowen must be feeling in Sage’s body.

       Rowen put his hands on Sage’s hips and said, “Hold onto ya hat.”

       They were wild. Rodeos had nothing on these two; Rowen arched his hips up while Sage met him on his own way down, then they both sprang apart and met again, sheathed, and parted, thought never quite completely. The bed put up quite a squeal, protesting loudly with metal springs popping and brass framework striking against the wall with each timed maneuver.

       Sage, eyes closed tightly, was fairly tossing himself up and down and up again, rising to his knees and sinking back upon his legs again for every cycle. His thigh muscles shuddered weakly but could not cease succumbing to the hot delight of Rowen’s erect phallus punching in and out of his body like a well-oiled piston.

       Rowen arched his back, leaning up a little, far enough to reach around his lover and grasp his firm, toned rear with both hands, massaging his cheeks roughly. Sage was outright panting for breath, sweat gleaming on his neck and chest in a silver sheen. And when Rowen grabbed hold of Sage’s cock and began pumping it hard, the blond had to bite his tongue as he orgasmed into Rowen’s hand and onto his chest, repeatedly ramming himself down into his lover’s firm erection until the last of his strength waned and he collapsed forward.

       “You okay?” Rowen asked softly.

       “Yeah,” Sage muttered into the pillow beside Rowen’s head. “I can’t move.”

       “Oh boy. You’re all mine.” Rowen paused and eased his lover off of him, onto his stomach and taking up position behind him, between Sage’s spread and limp legs.

       “C’mon, Seiji,” Rowen said teasingly, giving a pat to the blond’s finely-shaped tush. “I’m not done with ya yet. Froggy style.”

       “Whaaaat?” Sage drawled.

       “Like doggy style, ‘cept you’re not on ya knees. You’re on your stomach with ya legs like a frog.”

       Pause.

       “You’re so . . . disgustingly creative, Ro.”

       “Shaddap. I’ve gotta job to finish.” And Rowen began to take his pleasure out on Sage, more easily this time because he knew that the blond was probably tired and sore by now. Sage still moaned into the pillows when he felt Rowen cum inside of him, a hot river of love that made his hair stand on end and his muscles shudder. He groaned in a very pleased way and Rowen withdrew and leaned down, placing a series of soft and delicate kissed on Sage’s shoulder blades.

       “You were great,” the swordsman commended. “I mean it. That was . . . damn, that was good.”

       “So were you,” Rowen murmured, nestling himself in the crook of Sage’s neck, lying half on and half off of him. “Ya rode me like a bull. I should take you to a rodeo sometime.”

       “You know I was just breaking you in.”

       “Breakin’ me, nothin’,” Rowen whispered, kissing Sage’s ear. “I’ve neva seen ya fuck that hard before in my life. Was it the club or somethin’ that made ya that horny?”

       “Think it was the music.”

       “Hell yeah. You know what, Seiji?”

       “What,” Seiji muttered sleepily.

       “Tamarra we’re takin’ our asses down to the music store and buyin’ a whole . . .” He tried to think of a word to describe a vast amount of something. “. . . fuckin’ shitloada industrial electronic CDs. We can listen to ‘em and get it on. God, I’ve got blue balls just thinkin’ about it.”

       “Rowen, you always have blue balls.”

       “Hair doesn’t count.”

       “Yes it does.”

       “Well, my nads are singin’ the blues just thinking about it.”

       “Nads can’t sing, especially your nads.”

       “You callin’ me a bad singa?”

       “No, I just said your nads can’t sing.”

       “Well, your nads . . .” Rowen faltered, looking for an insult to Sage’s testicles. “Uh . . . your nads . . .”

       “Ro, can it wait till morning?”

       “Your nads don’t know how to dance.”

       “And yours do?”

       “Yep. My dancin’ blue nads,” Rowen said proudly.

       “Rowen, you’re really going to give me nightmares.”

       “Every time ya look at me, think about my dancing blue nads. They love ya.”

       “Are you high or something?”

       “Dance, dance . . . in my pants, pants,” Rowen sang softly. “With a lance, lance-”

       “You’re exaggerating.”

       “Go to sleep.”

       “I can’t, not with you singing and talking about your dancing blue nads.”

       “Okay, okay, I’ll be good.”

       Silence fell. Sage was nearly asleep when Rowen’s voice inquired, “Do ya know what kind of music makes me horny?”

       “What kind.”

       Rowen snickered. “Cunt-try.”

       “What, so you’re bi now?”

       “I didn’t say which country.”

       “Which country, then?”

       “Ass-syria.”

       Pause. “You are such a twit.”

       “Gotta love me, though.”