A Perfect Match 2


Months since the night he’d nearly literally stumbled across Laith and the man was still in Steele’s home. Still sharing — or possibly gracing, depending on the day and time, because Steele changed his mind about that every now and again — Steele’s bed.

It was odd, Steele knew, that they had settled in so easily, but there it was. Yes, there it was.

The most difficult part of the entire thing, of course, was fighting the urge to help Laith, because Steele didn’t know from blind. Didn’t have much of a clue about how it felt to not see. And yet, Laith didn’t need his help, except on the rare occasion that they went somewhere unfamiliar. Laith seemed to have perfect recall of the spaces around him, unless Steele did something foolish like move a chair or leave something in the middle of the floor.

He’d only done that once, of course, and that had been early on. Before Steele had gotten used to the idea that he was living with a blind man. Bella and Buffy — Steele’s two Poodermans — had somehow figured it out faster than Steele had, too, which was slightly annoying but ultimately a good thing. Laith’s cane was the one thing in the house that was entirely safe from their insatiable need to chew and gnaw on whatever might be handy.

“Steele!” His name came from the back porch, audible over the hissing whoosh of his blowtorch and Steele quickly turned the fuel valve to off as he straightened, pushing the welding mask back from his face. “My friend’s here, so you need to come in, okay? You promised!”

The reminder wasn’t strictly necessary because Steele had a very strong recollection of the night before, when the way Laith’s heavy cock was battering his prostate would have had Steele promising to build a house on the moon, it had been so good. Still, a promise was a promise and Steele tried to always keep his word.

“I’ll be right there, love,” Steele called back, one thickly gloved hand holding the curve of metal he’d been fastening to the middle section of his latest piece while the other pulled the mask completely off and dropped it to the ground. “Make sure the pups don’t eat him.” Or make sure they did, because the last thing Steele really wanted to do was let some guy he’d never met wax him.

The idea alone made him shudder, but he’d promised and he would do it. He would also be having a talk with Laith about promises made under duress — by which Steele meant while in pursuit of an orgasm — not necessarily being binding. Then he looked at the back porch and saw Laith standing there, tall and slender and tanned by the summer sun, and Steele knew he would never have that talk at all. He hadn’t been able to deny Laith anything since they’d met; there was no point in believing he would be able to start doing so.

Laith laughed and shook his head, all that long white hair floating on the waft of air conditioning flowing from the door behind him. “The Bs like him already. Though… if you’re gonna yelp and howl like that guy in that movie you played last week? We might want to put them out here. Now, come on, Steele. We’re waiting!”

Just the reminder of the scene from ‘The 40 Year Old Virgin’ had Steele cringing. He couldn’t help it; especially when his own body was far more hairy than the actor’s. Still, Steele was a big man. Strong and tough. “I sincerely hope I don’t cry,” he muttered to himself as he stripped the gloves from his hands and placed them on the ground alongside his blowtorch and mask. “That would be… discomfiting, to say the least.” And as he was a man, that was something of a universal truth.

“Well, well.” Not Laith speaking, Steele saw when he stepped into the kitchen, because the man standing there beside Steele’s beautiful lover was shorter. Less lean. More… flamboyant. “I hope I brought enough wax, though I suppose tweezers will be fine for dealing with that… not unibrow, but not far from it. I’m Randy, by the way. Name, not condition. The whole… missing-link thing just doesn’t do it for me.”

If Steele had needed any proof that Laith was entirely aware of his place in relation to everything around him, the way one long-fingered hand darted out and smacked Randy –name not condition, indeed — on the back of the head would have done it.

“Be nice,” Laith demanded. “Or do I have to remind you of what happened the last time we weren’t on the same page, Randy?”

Steele had honestly never seen anyone go so very parchment white, then fuscia so quickly. It was slightly odd, and yet the way Randy stammered “No, no, you were entirely right about Hugo,” gave him some indication with regards to the reason.

By the time Steele had showered and slipped into an old pair of sweat pants, Laith’s friend was ready to torture Steele until he bled. Or ready to wax Steele’s chest and back, which Steele was certain would turn out being the same thing. Even so, he arranged himself as requested on the padded folding table that had appeared in the kitchen while Steele had been cleaning up.

“Are you completely sure that this is a good idea?” Steele tried one more time to sway Laith, but the man just grinned.

“I’m sure I want to feel all those muscles on top of muscles without the fur coat, yeah,” Laith said easily and Steele sighed. “It’ll be fine,” Laith added, his green eyes shining in that way he had. The way that always made it seem like Laith could see with more than just his fingers and tongue. “Besides, the wax smells really good, Steele. Like licorice. You love licorice.”

“It’s the anise oil,” Randy piped up. “And Laith mentioned that movie. I know the one. Don’t worry. I won’t let you up from this table until you’re finished. I’m sort of… fastidious that way.”

Laith snorted. “More like anally persnickety,” he said, clearly teasing.

“Tomato, tomahhhto,” Randy answered. “Now, hush and let me turn your yeti into a stunning example of man.”

After that, it was horrifying. Worse than anything Steele could imagine. By the time Randy was finished, Steele’s entire body felt like it had been flayed; like the skin had been stripped off completely, leaving nothing behind but raw, bloody muscles that were tight and sore from resisting the urge to beat the merry hell out of the bastard who’d provided the torment so easily.

“Come on, babe,” Laith said softly, once his sadistic friend was gone, “let’s go upstairs. I have some cream that’ll feel really good on your skin.”

Well, there wasn’t much that Steel could say to that, other than “We needs to make sure the pups are in and fed first, love.” Because even if he was hurting, and he definitely was, there was no way Steele was going to snap at Laith. Sure, he hadn’t wanted to go through the variety of hell he’d just experienced, but his lover had wanted it. Not the hell part, but the aftermath. The smooth chest with no hair to get stuck in Laith’s teeth or interfere with the way Laith’s fingers saw.

“Thank you,” Laith murmured an hour or so later, when Steele’s skin was largely soothed by viscous lotion and gentle touches. “And I’ll never ask you to do that again, okay? I just… wanted to know you like this.”

Steele smiled and slid his hand lightly over Laith’s naked prick. “You do realize that it’s now one of my goals to get you to promise me things in bed, too. Seeing as it was so effective for you, I figure I might as well give it a shot.”

Laith smiled in the light coming in through the window. “As long as it doesn’t involve inserting marshmallows into any orifices that aren’t meant to consume them, because that powdery stuff on them? Gets sort of, um… paste-like.”

Steele couldn’t help but laugh at that. “No… no marshmallows. I was thinking about…” He blushed but forced himself to continue, even so. “But there was that thing. In the porn film the other night. Um. What I described to you, love.”

Those green eyes narrowed for a second before going wider than Steele had ever seen them and Laith looked just stunned for a moment or three. His prick swelled quickly, going from half to fully hard in Steele’s hand. “I. I’m not really sure it’s possible to stretch me enough for your whole hand,” Laith muttered, blushing. “But I… maybe we could try it. Not like… now, or anything, but…”

Steele chuckled, feeling extremely masculine all of a sudden, even with his chest and back naked as a baby’s bottom. “No,” he agreed easily. “Not now. At the moment, I’m more interested in other activities, though what I have in mind does require an equal degree of nudity.”

Laith smiled, still looking a little pole-axed. “Yeah. Okay. That’s… yeah. Just lie back and… oh, I want to ride you like this. All smooth-skinned and…”

And, indeed, Steele thought as he grinned and relaxed against the sheets. “Go on then, love. Saddle up.” And Laith did.


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