The drive home seemed agonizingly slow, and I raced into the house as soon as I arrived, almost forgetting to lock my car. Since I knew I was going to get chewed out at some length, it was imperative that I take care of the persistent problem in my boxer shorts before my parents got in.
In my bedroom, aided by a liberal amount of baby oil, I strummed to images of Amir doing the same thing on his big waterbed, to images, I hoped, of me. I collected the generous results in a tissue, tossed it, and washed my hands in the bathroom down the hall.
I made a sandwich to take to my room and sat (on a cushion) to try and get some work done before the inevitable yelling-at, which commenced at around five-thirty with my father's return, continued when my mom arrived home at six, and concluded relatively quickly at close to six-ten when I finally got a word in edgewise. I told them that the Khalili kid and I had "discussed our differences" and were "friends now, kind of".
"Discussed our differences". Hmm... Now, was that the sucking or the rimming?
How I managed to get through this with a straight face is a complete enigma to me, but my "maturity" and newfound "tolerance" in making up (or making out?) with my long-time rival and "agreeing to disagree" (agreeing to wear each other's cum?) really impressed them. Acting on a sudden inspiration, I explained how Amir Khalili and I had decided to study together (or screw feverishly, whichever) during our suspension so our comparably excellent averages wouldn't go down. They seemed to view all this as some big act of charity on my part.
Sort of a condescending attitude, I guess. They're the types who'd never say anything aloud among their so-called enlightened friends, but I know better than anyone that their perceptions about Arabs, particularly my mom's, are sometimes less than kind.
Anyway, in the end I got off with a greater portion of their commendation than their ire. Once dismissed, I made a pot of strong coffee, finished my work, and took a shower. Before getting in, I was unable to resist a thorough examination of my welts, standing in front of the full-length mirror bolted to the door.
I'm a good deal paler than Amir, as I have noted. Maybe even too pale, by some standards. There is a warm, dry cast to my skin like old ivory which, in contrast with my long dark eyelashes and thick dark hair, is very striking. The stripes which curved over my lightly-bruised white ass-flesh were even more starkly distinct than those which licked across Amir's lovely buns. Admiring my lean body, looking over my shoulder at the marks on my ass, touching them, thinking of Amir tonguing them, I found myself, predictably enough, with yet another erection. I got in the shower quick, willing it to calm down. I thought of the most boring and depressing things I could come up with (pre-calc homework; clothes shopping; visiting my senile Ukrainian grandmother; any team sports, etc) and before long the excitement had begun to retreat. It was hard going, no pun intended, as the steady hot water streaming down the back of my body revived the nerve-endings in my tender butt and made nasty thoughts difficult to avoid.
I went to bed not long after. I can't say exactly what I dreamed. Amir was a vague yet oddly vivid presence. More in essence than in form; strong disconnected impressions of his face and hands and his scent, but no event, no words.
At ten or so the next morning, well after my parents had gone to work, the phone rang: Amir, intimating that the house was deserted, he was getting pretty bored, and he wouldn't object if I were to come over and amuse him. In literally three minutes, I was dressed, out the front door, and inside the car, my bare feet half-in and half-out of an old pair of sneakers I'd slipped on in my mad dash. Under a blue hooded sweatshirt, I had put on some jeans and the kind of thin T-shirt he'd mentioned he used to like to see back when we were in gym together.
My stomach was a coil of excited nerves as I ascended the Khalilis' front stairs and pressed the doorbell. I saw my reflection for a moment in the glass panes on the front door; I looked jumpy as hell, but I also looked hot.
Amir must have been watching me drive up from the living room window. My finger was still on the bell, the sound reverberating through the front hall, when he hauled the door open.
"Nice," he said succinctly, shutting the door behind us and turning to look me up and down.
"You too."
He was shirtless, dressed only in a pair of faded plaid flannel pajama pants, and hadn't shaved the thin shadow from his jawline or even combed his beautiful wild black curls. His eyes were still heavy and clouded with sleep. He looked utterly stunning.
The one injured eye was puffy and darkish, but better than it'd looked yesterday. His cut lip was healing well. You could tell he'd been hit sometime in the not-so-distant past, and I found in spite of my self-admonitions that a part of me liked this slightly used quality to his face. It was clear to anyone who looked at Amir that I'd marked him.
I took off the sweatshirt and placed it on a hook next to the door. Then I pressed him against me and kissed his open mouth hard. He tasted fresh and cool, like toothpaste and spearmint mouthwash. Underneath was his own undefinable taste. I probed into the far reaches of his mouth, under his tongue, along his back teeth. He yielded to it, his mouth slack, that velvety cockteasing tongue dancing lazily against mine. We were getting much better at kissing each other. Perhaps because we'd recently practiced so enthusiastically on more remote and flavorful orifices.
How long would we have the house to ourselves? Was there any good reason not to just pin him down on the living room rug and get those pants off?
I doubted if he even had any underwear on underneath the soft flannels, judging from the way things were jutting out in front. Not that I was complaining, though it might've been nice to see his erection strain against those sexy butt-cupping tight white briefs again.
"You are delicious," I said, running a hand up his tensed hard thighs and over his loose-swinging genitals. Sure, I sounded silly--but I sensed I was going to have to get used to just blurting out silliness around him. I seemed to do it often enough. I didn't even want to think what would happen once we went back to school.
Down the hall to the bedroom again. The living room floor would have been great illicit fun, but private space was probably the better option, with all those pretty brothers of his who might find a reason to come home in the middle of the day, and the angry father arriving who-knew-when.
Again, he locked the door before we grabbed at each other, fondling one another's bodies through our clothes. I took off my shirt. As we kissed, there was the gratifying feel of his silky-skinned chest with the nearly-invisible dusting of hair between the cute nipples. I couldn't wait to pull his pants down and get an eyeful of his stripes. I had looked at my own ass that morning. There was some bruising around the dark cane-marks, and some from the harder swats with the rule book. Nothing gratuitous. In fact it was rather elegant. Edgy had made a definite pattern, getting all the cardinal points of my behind. I wanted to see what kinds of colors showed up across Amir's bottom.
I wondered if Mr. Khalili would still smack it if the welts hadn't dissipated sufficiently.
"Khalili, your dad is really going to whack that fine ass of yours?" I asked, more because the subject excited me wildly than out of any genuine doubt or concern. Go on, call me insensitive.
"You don't believe it, take a look tomorrow morning," he said, shrugging and throwing himself on the bed. I joined him, settling on my side. He smiled crookedly and gave my pert denim-clad rear end a firm and meaningful pat.
"What about your fine little ass, Eisen? Hmm? So, your dad really didn't whack it?"
"Ha!" I tossed back my head with a snort of incredulous, triumphant laughter. "You only wish."
"Really?" He raised his eyebrows, a teasing smile playing at the delicate corners of his lush mouth. "Never spanked you at all, huh? Never in your life?"
"Nope."
"Might explain why you thought you could go and start that fight with me yesterday."
I lowered my eyes. "Could be."
He ran his hand down along my bare side, stroking. "Did they at least ground you?"
"No they praised my, quote, 'maturity' and 'tolerance' in making peace with you."
"Seriously?" Amir rolled those lovely shadowy eyes. "Gimme a break."
I nodded. "Yup. True story."
"Did you tell them how you licked my asshole?"
I kissed him primly on his smirking lips. "No, I did not. I told them we were going to 'study' together."
Amir laughed and laid his hand on the hardness in my jeans, running his forefinger slowly up and down the fly. I could hear the tiny metallic clicks from his nail against the zipper teeth.
"Well," he said, undoing the top button, chuckling. Then, with a kind of consciously affected formality, the way certain of our teachers spoke: "I think we ought to have a little review session. I'm not sure I quite understand the material, Mr. Eisen, perhaps you'll be so kind as to work through the examples with me one more time...?"
We were on the bed, resting and desultorily playing a mindless shoot-em-up, when we heard the sound of the back door banging shut and footsteps in the kitchen. The door was only half-closed. Light streamed in from one open window. His room had badly needed some fresh air; there are only so many times a couple of boys can get each other off in a closed space before it starts to smell like one thing and one thing only.
We listened as feet pounded up the stairs, then pounded back down again.
"Amir!" someone called.
It sounded like a young man not as young as we were, but certainly not, say, his dad's age. And this young man sounded very impatient.
"Amir, are you in your room?!"
Amir hit the "Pause" button and jumped up, alert, once more reminding me of a young cat.
"Yeah! In here, Rahman!" His voice didn't exactly waver, but it betrayed a certain level of apprehension.
Amir's twenty-two-year-old brother, whom I'd glimpsed before at formal debates and other school functions, appeared in the doorway, leaning heavily, looking both distracted and displeased. I studied him in the afternoon sunlight from the window we'd thrown open to help with the much- needed airing-out.
Rahman Khalili was nearly as beautiful as Amir, with something more of a build to him. Likely he lifted weights. There was the same luscious soft-seeming mouth, the same sharp nose, the same big long-lashed fuck-me-til-I-scream black eyes. But the look in those eyes was anything but amorous. A number of slow seconds passed before I registered the hairbrush in his hand, and connected its presence, by some rudimentary instinct, with Amir's apprehension. My breathing grew inaudibly quicker. Could it be this oldest Khalili beauty was sometimes granted a kind of "licence to punish"? There was a five-year age difference, after all
Amir cleared his throat, gestured at me. "Rahman, this is Aaron Eisen. From the debate team. Aaron, this is my brother Rahman."
"Aaron Eisen," Rahman Khalili repeated, tasting my name in his mouth, squinting at me. He looked just like his brother when he did that. "Interesting."
There was a thick pause.
"I don't mean to be rude, 'Aaron Eisen', but you have to leave. My father just called. He got a message on his cell from the school yesterday." He was glaring at his brother now, black eyes narrowed, arms crossed over the front of his faded college T-shirt. "He says you got in a fight or something, Amir, and I've gotta talk to you about it for him. He can't be home til Friday."
Seeing that I'd made no move to get up from the edge of the waterbed, he turned back on me. "I really suggest you go home. This isn't gonna be pleasant."
The way he was looking at me sent a hot shudder through my body. A kind of "how dare you darken my doorway?" look, but there was something appraising, almost lecherous, in the curl of his lip.
I didn't want to go home. Unless things at the Eisen residence had altered drastically since breakfast, there were no gorgeous, horny Arab boys there. Certainly none with such attractively-welted backsides as Amir's.
I stood up from the bed.
"I know what you want to talk to him about."
"Do you?"
"I was there."
"You were?"
I took a deep breath.
"As a matter of fact, I started it." There, it was said. "I hit him first."
Rahman folded his arms across his chest, still holding the brush, and eyed me with new iciness.
"'Eisen' yeah, I remember you. It figures." He scowled. "Well. In that case, your parents have probably had the same kind of talk with you." Then--quickly, suspiciously: "Or they'll want to, once they've been told--"
"They know," I interrupted him. He knit his brow--I was on thin ice now. My voice began to falter like it never had onstage during a debate. "And uh it's not exactly... see, Amir told me how you and.... "
"Amir told you what?"
"Well he..."
A regular paragon of eloquence, wasn't I?
"His family doesn't use corporal punishment," Amir finished for me. I was shocked at the evenness of his tone.
Rahman looked momentarily surprised--that he'd told me about that, I suppose. Or maybe that no one at home had ever seen fit to wallop me.
"That probably explains why he starts fistfights. Not to mention going around shooting his mouth off. But he's not my problem, fortunately. He has to leave." Amir's older brother tapped the hairbrush against his palm. "I've been up all goddamn night in the library, and I've still got a ton of work to do. Dad wants me to take care of this and I'm on a tight schedule. The last thing I need today is to have to tell my professor that I missed class in order to drive home and spank my little brother."
He sneered. He obviously had no interest in sparing the kid's blushes, and Amir was blushing hard.
"Believe me, Amir, you are not going to feel like having visitors after I am done with you."
Don't be so sure about that, buddy, I thought. A good whacking seems to make your boy very sociable indeed.
What I actually said was: "We both got a pretty serious caning yesterday."
I didn't bother mentioning how old Edgewick had smacked our two squirming bare butts with that rule book while we lay across his desk side by side. It was too embarrassing, and I was afraid I'd start stammering again.
"I know you got your asses caned," Rahman said, "Bet it was that pretentious shit Edgewick, the one who thinks he's British or something? Whatever. Sounds like you needed it."
The way he said "you" it was as if he were only talking to me.
"So if you er punish Amir, it's going to hurt a lot more--"
Scratch that, I was amply capable of stammering as it was.
Rahman Khalili's searing gaze said he was unimpressed by my astute grasp of the obvious. It shut me up real quick. The whole time he was staring me down, he continued tapping the brush against his open palm. It was turning me on, that was another problem. I kept picturing the harsh wooden brush smacking down on sexy, bronzy Amir's abused butt. Flat side. Bristle side. How he would howl.
My own ass was tingling too.
Rather weakly, I continued, sounding like a petulant kid (which might've been appropriate since, under Rahman's gaze, I felt like I was nearer and nearer to getting spanked myself):
"It's not fair that he should get it if I don't. I'm more to blame than he is. And it isn't as though we haven't been punished already..."
Rahman worried his pretty black curls with his free hand. Why, I wondered, didn't he just run the brush through it while he was standing there?
"Well, I can't paddle you both," he said, finally.
"But it's only fair, don't you think?"
I was feeling suddenly loopy. Absurd. Like the whole thing was a hallucination. The way it came out, it almost sounded like I was flirting with him. Maybe I was, a little.
He glanced at Amir, making a sound of annoyed incredulity.
"Listen, 'Aaron Eisen', at this point, I'd like to. Whether or not your parents agree. But I can't because I literally don't have the time. I'm already late for class thanks to this shit you two pulled. And since I'm here anyway, I need to get some things together before I leave again." He gave his brother another pointed glare. "You had to go and do this this week of all weeks, didn't you? When you knew Dad was out of town, and you knew I was busy?"
"But he " Amir began, pointing at me.
Oh, thanks...
"Yeah, yeah I know. Zionist-boy here started it. Right. And you had no problem continuing it." I was relieved he didn't tell me to get out again. Could it be he was considering...?
Rahman's eyes went back to me, and he continued to study me for a long moment. I studied him right back.
"Fuck it."
He set the brush down on Amir's dresser. The gesture had a deflated, indifferent quality.
"Here's my idea. You're what seventeen? Almost adults. You know what you did. You can deal with each other yourselves, provided you take it seriously." He laughed. "In fact, I think it's even appropriate. A little lesson in give and take. And if it means I can get some fucking work done for once today..."
I was sure this handsome ill-tempered fellow had been the type of older brother to give Amir Indian- burns and let the air out of his bike tires when no one was looking, all while bringing home straight A's and presenting an angelic face to adults.
But was he serious? My fantasy, my fear, earlier in Edgewick's office, was coming true? I'd expected to be told again, in less polite terms, to mind my own business and go on home. It was surreal. I looked at Amir. Amir looked at me. It was everything I'd wanted: to be in charge of reddening that perky caramel ass.
As he was in charge of reddening mine, let us not forget.
"Since it looks like you're friends now, I take it I can trust you not to kill each other?"
We nodded, both of us speechless.
"Good boys. I'm going to be right out in the living room trying to finish some of this stuff on my laptop. And I expect to hear real smacks coming from in here. No fucking around, or I will come in and whack the both of you, even if I do have to miss class to do it."
I bit my lip to keep from laughing at the "no fucking around" line (he didn't know the half of it), and I'm certain Amir was biting his too. Things in my pants were stirring once again, especially after Rahman's threat/promise to "whack the both of us" if we didn't do a good enough job whacking each other.
We stared silently after Rahman as he left, leaving the door open. There was a full minute of utter quiet.
"He doesn't like me, does he?" I said, not meeting Amir's eye. I felt shy now, and it seemed he did too.
"Rahman's a dickhead," Amir replied sullenly, still a bit red in the face. "Always has been."
Quiet again. The clock radio on his desk went from 1:22 to 1:23 to 1:24.
"Well," Amir said finally, moving closer to me on the bed. "Since you went first with everything yesterday..."
And here I--stupidly, oh-so-stupidly--expected him to offer to take the first ass-brushing. When instead he reached for my fly again, I was truly taken aback. Unlike in the aux shower, this was not such a good surprise at all. But I let him unzip me even as I opened my mouth to protest. I wondered if Rahman would walk by to check on us, if he'd see--
"Shhh," Amir said. He briskly undid my belt. "Remember who started this."
"Amir "
"You said it yourself. And I haven't forgotten."
He unbuttoned my pants and released me. Standing there with my pants and belt hanging open, my boxers already tented, I decided I could be gracious about this.
"All right. Where do you want me?"
He looked my body up and down appreciatively; he ran a hand across my flat belly, up under my shirt to caress the lean definition of my chest, then back down to cup my growing bone. There was a triumphant little leer on his face.
Oh, that's right, Khalili, enjoy your little power trip for now
"You could get on all fours on the bed," he said quietly, running teasing fingers over my balls. "That's what he has me do sometimes. Or you could go over my knee..."
That excited high color was in his face again as he said this last. Blushing, even though he was the one preparing to spank me--at least at the moment.
I pictured my defenseless bare butt over his knee. He'd be able, not that it much mattered after yesterday, to look right down into my crack. Considering how much I moved around during a spanking, he'd almost certainly get to ogle a lot more than just the firm, white curves he was punishing and the shadows where those vulnerable buns met.
And this time, he'd know the status of my hard-on no matter what. I'd either have it jutting out between my legs as I knelt across his bed doggy-style, bouncing each time he spanked my upturned bottom, or pressed against his firm thighs as he smacked me to the point of unbearable friction.
"Take your boxers off."
"But, your brother--"
Amir slapped my ass so hard I almost fell forward.
"You need it bare for maximum humiliation," he explained, as if to a child, in a voice I'd never heard from him before. "You had no problem showing it in Edgy's office. If Rahman comes and sees it, that's all part of the punishment. Understand?"
I sighed, decided I could be more than gracious about this, and slid all the clothing off my tingling behind (the slap still hot across my crack) and down around my knees while Amir looked on approvingly. Then I laid my slightly trembling body over his slender thighs, not sure exactly where to place my bare bottom, since I'd never been punished over a knee before. I was at a loss, also, about what to do with my cock, but Amir took care of both matters in short order, moving his legs to force my rump into an appropriately perked-up position on his thighs, and tucking my erect shaft snugly between them, as though my infuriatingly needy cock were nothing but an embarrassing afterthought.
"You realize," I said through gritted teeth, speaking low so as not to be heard by Rahman, my buns jutting up, my face inches from the floor, "that every time you spank my ass you're going to be basically jerking me off between your thighs."
There was no reply. One hand savoringly massaged my condemned hindquarters.
I continued, in a whisper, "I just don't want to mess up your carpet--aaaggghh!" He cut me off swiftly with a firm slap you-know-where.
"Shhh," he said, as he resumed his slow massage where he'd slapped me.
He leaned over my bare back to pick up the hairbrush from the dresser. My rear end tightened up involuntarily as the cool brush-back touched it.
"Now, Aaron," Amir said, his tone approximating Edgy's--or maybe his brother's or father's, "you know not to do that." He gave me a gentle warning spank. Almost a love-tap, though it hurt. Reluctantly, with a small apprehensive sound, I relaxed my bottom. I no longer felt at all cocky, and all thoughts of administering reciprocal treatment to Amir's backside were briefly overshadowed by concern for my own. The welts from being punished yesterday had faded some, sure, but I still remembered them vividly whenever I sat down.
"Good boy," . He was still massaging my butt in a leisurely admiring way, which was driving me crazy. Cafferty pulled this kind of thing too, only he rubbed your bottom with the paddle before applying discipline, and he lectured you, bare and bent, from behind while he did it. Some boys liked to say Caff had "lectured their butts". I didn't know whether they meant the lecture he delivered with the paddle, or the one addressed to your bare crack beforehand.
"Now, you keep your ass high and your legs straight, understand?"
"Yeah."
I straightened my legs and perked my butt like I had for Edgy. I felt a little sorry for myself. I'd come over to have some fun and now I was about to acquire a very sore behind for my trouble, for the second time this week.
"Head down, Aaron."
I felt the pressure of Amir's left hand on my bare back. I heard his heavy breathing--and then the clap of the brush-back striking my buttocks. My body jumped and the brush came down again.
"Aah!"
SLAP
"Quiet!"
SLAP
After those first few smacks with that smooth, hard, evil brush-back, my bare ass was getting uncomfortably, unseasonably warm, and the cane marks from yesterday were complaining loudly. Each crack made a report in the otherwise silent bedroom. I pictured Rahman listening just beyond the doorframe, even though I knew he was supposed to be down the hall working on whatever it was, happy to have his trouble-making, time-wasting brother's punishment (and mine) out of his hands. I had just enough time to think he must be stark-raving nuts to relinquish the privilege of heating up Amir's flawless rump, before yet another brush-stroke slapped down heavily on mine. I tried not to put on too much of a show for him but there was certainly some wincing and there was certainly some squirming. Amir kept a hand on my back to steady me and administered three hard shocks to my behind in succession. He was hitting me right on my welts; either he couldn't help it or he didn't want to. I could feel the hard bulge through his pants. Yes, it was clear he enjoyed hurting me, and I began, however hypocritically, to resent it.
"Ah!" The cry caught in my throat as another shot got me right on the butt-fold, direct center of my quivering ass.
I did something stupid then, something only a boy who maybe hasn't been smacked enough in his life would do. Amir, for instance, never would have made so silly a mistake.
I reached back and clapped a hand over my left butt-cheek.
Pain like nothing before--except the cane--flashed across my hand. He'd cracked my knuckles with the brush. Hard. I cried out and he cracked them again, then forced the hand up against the small of my back. I felt something rough and prickly on my bare sensitive buns and understood that Amir was rubbing the bristle side over my flesh, particularly the crowns of the cheeks, which were very sore.
"You feel that, Aaron?"
I could barely get the word out. "Yeah."
He gave my behind a very light tap with those bristles. "Doesn't feel very nice, does it?"
"No."
"Well, if I see your hand come near your butt again, I'm going to hit it again like I just did, only harder. I'm going to hit your hand and then I'm going to turn this brush over like it is now and I'm going to spank your butt with it do you want to find out how much that hurts, Aaron?"
"I don't."
God, I hoped Rahman couldn't hear what we were saying. Not that he would have had any problem with it.
"Good. You can have your hand back in a minute."
He pinned my wrist to my back and began slapping me rapid-fire with the flat side, light stinging swats everywhere on my bottom. I imagined the whole thing was very red, and the thought contributed to my perversely persistent hard-on. I was tempted to look over my shoulder at the reflection of my butt being paddled in the mirror, but I wasn't about to raise my obediently lowered head and risk getting the bristle-side for it.
The rapid swats were different from the slow, firm, deliberated ones he'd given me earlier. I'd venture to say they were worse, in their way. Finally, he let go of my wrist, probably hoping that I'd try covering my flaming buns again so he'd get to beat me with the bristles.
He resumed the slow, heavy smacks. I couldn't help moving my sore butt around, and he let me know, with an extra-hard spank and a sharp order to "Keep still!", exactly what he thought of that. After awhile I closed my eyes and just let it happen. The terrible heat bloomed and spread; the rush of blood and the pressure of Amir's thighs kept me hard. But I tell you I was miserable.
When I glanced up, Rahman was there, standing in the doorway smiling a soft, wickedly gratified, beautiful smile. He didn't say anything, and Amir said nothing to him. I shut my eyes involuntarily at an especially painful whack and when I opened them he was gone. I envisioned all the terrible things that might befall a college boy as fine and edible as Rahman Khalili. Sold into male prostitution during an unfortunate night of binge-drinking? Frat hazing gone awry? Late-night campus rape? The list was endless, and would have been a lot more fun to compile had my butt not felt like someone had forced me to sit in a hot frying pan.
I must have stayed over Amir's knee for thirty seconds or more before I even realized he had put the brush back on the dresser. Rahman must definitely be down the hall now, I thought, because Amir was softly stroking my back and my sweaty hair, and he'd never do that in front of his brother. Not that I blame him.
"Come on, Aaron. Get up."
He tried to help me to my feet.
"Rahman " I began, worrying about my erection.
"I think he went to the store real quick. He must've needed something." Amir shrugged. "Didn't you hear him leave?"
"No," I sniffed. My eyes were somewhat wet. I hoped he wouldn't notice.
"Come on. It's OK"
I stood unsteadily, adjusting my glasses, which had almost fallen off my head.
Amir whistled. "Wow. You're really hard. And your ass is really red."
"Shut up." I wiped my tears and sweat on the back of my hand. When I pulled up my pants, the fabric was like sandpaper on my ass.
He watched me cover myself, watched me wince, then reached to touch my face. He held me, made me meet his eyes.
"You look so good, Aaron. All flushed and hot and--"
He would have had a lot more to say on the subject, I'm sure, but I'd gone up under his T-shirt and given him a titty-twister from hell, one much worse than the stimulating pinches and tweaks he liked so much.
"Ahh! Shit! Aaron!"
He kind of doubled over, his body curling into me, his face gorgeously drawn with pain (full lips open and wet; smooth forehead wrinkled; delicate nostrils flared; eyebrows pushing up and toward the nose, giving the wide black eyes a pleading look of distress). I was now doubly glad Rahman had gone off on his little errand; I'd never have been able to do that with him around.
I grabbed Amir (his left hand clasping his wounded right nipple), my arms around his slender waist, and threw him down on the bed. He wrestled me as I tried to undo the jeans he'd changed into after our hijinks that morning. The pajama pants would have been much easier to remove, but I found I liked him struggling a little while I unwrapped him. He moved his hands down to where I was busily undoing his belt, tried to fend me off.
"Wait "
"Your turn, Mr. Khalili," I said chidingly, slapping his hands. "Let's get those pants off and get started before your brother comes back. Remember what he said?"
I looked down at him sternly--and noticed the excited little gleam in his eyes.
"'No fucking around'," he said softly, his gaze straying below my waist, an eager breathless smile touching the corners of his moistened apprehensive mouth.
My hand rested briefly on his erection (undiminished in the slightest by this sudden turning-of-the- tables). I drew in a hard ragged breath.
"Right. 'No fucking around'."