Date: Tue, 12 Mar 2002 21:54:11 +0000 From: Java Biscuit Subject: Babying Reuben, chapter 11 This is a story involving male/male graphic sex and it's not intended for reading by minors. If you are underage, or this type of material is illegal where you live, please stop now, and go read something else! This is a fantasy meant only for the purpose of pleasurable reading. For those who've asked, my other stories in this archive are: Boy In A Pink Box, Vancouver Island, Willow and Back To The Playground. They may be found in either the Adult/youth or Young Friends sections. Feedback to javabiscuit@hotmail.com Babying Reuben ~ chapter eleven by Biscuit Reuben squeezed a small circle of cadmium red into the little bit of space left on his palette. In front of him the canvas was coming to life from a quick sketch of Jean. No model to pose, the man was downstairs with customers who'd come by appointment. Not that he'd have sat for him even if there weren't customers, Reuben thought. The sketch had been done in the morning, when he'd begged and cajoled Jean straight from the shower up into the studio. Jean had gotten restless very fast, never truly holding the pose at all. "Please," Reuben had out and out begged, "just one more minute," trying to get basic shapes down in spite of how his lover was shifting uncomfortably in the old armchair; his robe open and spread out under him. What he had down in paint now was his memory of how Jean looked. It was enough to work with for Reuben who'd been absorbed for hours in pulling life out of the bare framework. The red blending into the flesh tones he'd mixed pleased him. Almost right, he thought, saturating the tip of his brush. He used it to shade his painted lover's cock and stared at, thinking he was getting pretty close to what he wanted. Close enough that looking at it, the paint glistening and wet, was giving him hardon. Pretty damn good, he thought, considering. He took a glance out the window to gauge the time. Dark, maybe near five, he thought. It looked like there might be some snow in the shine of the street light. Surely Jean's done with his clients by now, he thought. The studio itself was toasty warm, but the skeletal bathroom adjoining it wasn't. Still, he was grateful to have a sink on hand for cleaning his brushes and getting the worst of the paint off himself. He'd made a habit of bringing up a change of clothes so he wouldn't accidentally carry smears of paint down into the apartment. Jean had said, though Reuben hadn't complained, that in the spring he'd get the bathroom redone. Reuben donned a pair of flannel drawstring pants that he'd left sitting near the radiator. His cock unfurled in the warmth. As he pulled on the clean tee-shirt and loose, soft sweater, one of Jean's that he'd stolen, he was hoping that Jean would be in the apartment and that if he hadn't started cooking yet, he could be coaxed into playing. One last glance at the canvas before turning off the light was enough to get him hard again. Jean wasn't in the apartment. Reuben, impatient to see him, decided to peek in the shop. The men Jean was meeting with were friends, like so many of his clients. In this case, Jean had explained, they were people who'd become friends through the business, not the other way around. Of course, thought Reuben, everyone who meets him likes him, wants to know him. Wants to fuck him, he thought, less happily. He eased the door to the shop open. It looked closed, all the front lights out, but in the back there was an area secluded behind a set of screens where Jean often had private dealings with clients; grouping of chairs and a sofa around a low round table. Jean was there but there were no clients. Only David. Since the night of the party it seemed like David was showing up constantly. On the phone or in person. When Reuben told Jean that he thought David was in love with him, Jean had been very amused and completely unconvinced. They'd been lazing on the couch after dinner, in front of the fire, a few days after the baby's first christmas party. Reuben, frustrated that Jean wasn't taking him seriously, had gotten up and started to pace. "Why can't you see it," he'd demanded. "He doesn't seduce your boyfriends because he wants them. He just doesn't want them to have you." "Reuben, come here. Just stop and come here." He'd reluctantly gone to stand beside him. Jean had reached out and begun stroking the back of his leg, his hand meandering up to Reuben's ass. "It's true that David loves me, as a friend. Okay. That much is true." Reuben had wanted to hold out more firmly but found himself already starting to succumb to the way Jean was looking up at him, the feel of his hand. "It's true that every once in awhile he thinks he wants to fuck me. But, he is not in love with me the way you're thinking of it. And believe me, every guy he's taken from me, he really wanted. But I am incredibly flattered," he said, his hand moving around Reuben's hip and across his hardening cock, "that my baby thinks I'm so irresistible to others." At that he'd grasped him by the waist of his pants, drawing him down, and the talk had been over. Well, thought Reuben, I'm right, and you're wrong. He had no doubt of it looking at David whose long lean body was arrayed sensuously on the sofa, as blatantly displayed as it could be without stripping down to bare skin. As if he felt Reuben's animosity, David glanced up and saw him. "Baby on board," he announced, giving him a look that Reuben took as a challenge, not altering his position one bit. Fuck you, thought Reuben. "Sorry to intrude," he said, not sorry at all, meeting David's blue eyes with his own challenge. Then he looked at Jean, who seemed oblivious to the drama that his friend and lover were waging with their eyes. Oh God, Jean, he thought, you just don't get it. But he felt a small victory in how Jean was looking at him. "Get in here, you," Jean said. "I just sold a pair of rings that will pay for a jacuzzi in your studio bathroom, if you want one." He looked very relaxed, very pleased with himself and his gaze was warm enough to melt away the anger that had started up in Reuben's heart. A week before, Reuben never would have done what he did then. He ignored the empty chair next to Jean and sat down in his lap, leaning into him possessively. "I think we should celebrate your good fortune by going dancing," David said. "You haven't been out to the clubs in forever. Everybody's going to The Tracks tonight. It's Joey's first night, he got himself a job dancing. They'll probably have him done up with mistletoe hanging over his dick." "You go and tell us about it later," Jean laughed. "Come on," he coaxed. "You love to dance and you haven't done it in ages. I'm sure you can sneak the baby in. What do you think Reuben, don't you want to see your old man sweat on the dance floor?" Reuben had never been to a dance club but he'd heard about The Tracks from Marcel. Marcel loved to go there and had met a number of his men there. He'd tried to get Reuben to go with him, telling him it was easy to sneak in and dance, no one bothered you about ID as long as you didn't buy drinks. He was torn between the image David conjured up of Jean dancing, and his desire to keep Jean at home, to himself. Anything David offered made suspicious, though, and he was glad when the man got up from the couch, gathering his things. "Maybe," Reuben said, gratified to feel Jean's hand stroking his back. If I do, he thought, Jean won't be dancing with you, David. "Well, I can see it's getting on time for baby's bottle. I'll call you guys later." ------------------------ Jean knew that Reuben hadn't been happy to see David there. But he wasn't terribly concerned. Reuben would get used to David, he was sure. Not much could bother Jean at that moment. He'd turned over a pair of gold rings he'd been holding onto for a while, at a profit that would do a lot more than fix up the bathroom next to Reuben's studio. And the boy was relaxing against him, smelling of soap, a little turpentine, and himself. There was always a different energy, a charge to Reuben when he emerged from his studio. He was both more calm and more aggressive, physically, as if his confidence in himself as a painter extended for a time even after he'd laid down his brushes. Jean was hungry, ready to close up downstairs and indulge in the rest of their Saturday night together. But when Reuben tilted his head back, looking up at him, wanting to be kissed, he gave in to the pleasure of being exactly where he was; sliding his hand up under the boy's tee-shirt to feel the smooth contours of his chest. He kissed him, holding back only a little. "Do you want to go dancing?" Reuben asked. Jean hadn't even considered it. "Dancing? No." "We've never gone." Here it comes, Jean thought. He sensed Reuben starting to contract into himself; he could practically see the wheels in motion in his head. Instead of a pliant cuddling boy, he was now holding an anxious teenager about to launch headlong into an attack of self doubt. Jean urged him up, thinking they might as well be fixing dinner during the talk he sensed coming on. As soon as he did it, he realized it was probably not the right thing to do. Reuben was standing in front of him, arms across his chest, looking down with a rising tide of questions in his eyes. The way he was holding himself had lifted the bottom edge of his loose sweater. My sweater, he thought, amused by how Reuben always latched onto the most worn out and softest of his old clothes. He was exposing a couple of inches of his tee-shirt and the drawstring of his pants. The loose plaid flannel didn't hide the curve of his cock, semi-hard, jutting out into the folds of the fabric. Jean found it very arousing. His own cock, stirred from holding Reuben in his lap, from kissing him, got harder. "You want to go dancing," Jean said, sitting back into the armchair, his legs spreading. He saw Reuben's eyes drop to his crotch as he touched himself. "If you do," Reuben said, eyes flickering from Jean adjusting his dick in his pants, up to his face. "What I want," Jean said, "is for you to put your knees right here." He patted the arms of the chair. God it was good, he thought, to see what that did to Reuben's face. Almost as good as to see what it did to the front of his pants. Everything else could wait, this was exactly what Jean wanted. The loosened pants fell part way down the boy's slim, spread thighs. Reuben's bare cock was perfectly displayed for him against the background of the wash worn cotton sweater, inches in front of his face. Jean happily tortured him, feeling the quiver run through Reuben's body as he traced patterns over the bare cheeks of his ass. Perfect, he thought, admiring the silky shaved skin, his mouth watering. He gathered up the loose fabric of sweater and tee-shirt, holding it around Reuben's waist as he closed his mouth around the head of his cock. -------------------- Reuben slid in and out of the warm wetness of Jean's mouth slowly, trying not to come yet. It felt too good to give up. Jean's firm, generous lips hugged his shaft, taking him in so deep he could feel them press the base, feel the caress of his bottom lip against his balls. Then Jean's hand rubbed across his ass, creating light friction, low, just above the tops of his thighs and Reuben couldn't contain what that did to him, like a shiver in the core each cheek. His hands tightened on the back of the chair, even his toes were trying to curl in on themselves as he fought and lost the battle to hold back. Almost as good, or better than coming, was after. Sinking down into the support of Jean's hands. Being held in his lap with the feel of Jean's still hard cock promising that the hunger Reuben had felt, even as he'd come, to be fucked, would be answered. He didn't even mind when Jean eventually made him get up. He felt hungry then, and helped close up the shop, anticipating dinner and a leisurely session in the playroom, afterwards. It was only as they were eating, looking at Jean across the table in the kitchen, that he started to think about David and dancing. Jean had been dressed as formally as he ever was for the meeting that afternoon. Though his clients were friends of his, they were friends who were accustomed to him in a suit and tie. Rarities for Jean, but he wore the clothes beautifully Reuben thought. Still, he loved to see him this way, stripped down to a tee-shirt and a pair of track pants. With both the eyes of a painter and a lover, he studied Jean's arms. Strong, perfectly shaped forearms, dusted with dark hair; the long smooth curves of his biceps, in balance with the rest of his body, the muscles defined. A gym couldn't give you that shape, Reuben thought, Jean had been born with it. He imagined Jean's body in motion on a dance floor; maybe shirtless, he thought. That made his dick hard. "I want to go dancing, Jean," he said. The words just came out, apropos of nothing. The man sat back, looking at him. Reuben tried not to flinch from the directness of Jean's gaze. What does he think, he wondered, to look at me so seriously? But then he saw the slight curve of Jean's smile and he took a deep breath, relieved. "If you think those legs of yours can still move by the time I'm done with you, we'll go dancing." Yes! Reuben could hardly focus on finishing his dinner. ----------------------- It was a restless baby Jean had on his hands after dinner. Reuben was almost squirming on his belly on top of the towel, and it was straining Jean to his limit to keep from climbing on top of him and burying his hard cock in the boy's ass. He slapped the round butt that was tempting him, maybe a little harder than he'd meant to, leaving a pink flush on the cheeks. "Hold still, child," he cautioned him, and soothed the flesh he'd slapped with a light stroke. Reuben peeked at him, over his shoulder, eyes wide with surprise but excited. Then he hid his face in the fur of the soft cat. The cat was half under him but his bear was tucked in beside the cat, both of them in the curve of his arm. Reuben adored the cat but couldn't give up the bear. Jean could well imagine a sea of stuffed animals overtaking the bed if he allowed it to happen. Not that he would, but the image of Reuben in a sea of soft fur had its charm. Jean spread the cheeks of Reuben's ass gently and could not resist running his tongue along the seam of the tender pink skin he exposed. It occurred to him that this butt would be a disappointment to a lot of guys into rimming. Reuben's ass was so often scrubbed, oiled, and lotioned it was more pristine than most people mouths, he thought. Only when he forced his tongue inside, through the clenching rings of muscle was there a hint of his body's musk. The boy had asked him about douches and enemas. The subject had caused Reuben to break out in a riot of blushes but he'd been so determined to get the words out that Jean hadn't dared smile. Why not, he'd thought, though he'd done nothing about it yet. For now, he knew, it was as much teasing as Reuben could bear to feel the soft swabs inside him. Jean could read his tremors, the sound of his breathing. When he turned Reuben over on his back, the boy was rosy from his groin to his neck, his cock as rigid and swollen as it could get, his scrotum tight. Without touching his cock more than necessary, Jean closed him into the diaper. On the table by the bed, the bottle was waiting. Jean, however, was at the end of his ability to wait. He positioned the boy on his side and got behind him. With a groan of relief he couldn't suppress, he found the opening in the cloth and pressed his achingly hard cock through it into the hot moist canal of Reuben's ass until his belly was flush against him. He lay still, feeling the boy's body pulse around him until he felt under control enough to reach for the bottle and hold it to Reuben's mouth. "Drink, baby," he told him. Reuben's face was a portrait of pleasure, his mouth clamping around the nipple. Concentrating on holding the bottle for him helped distract Jean from how badly he wanted to ram his hard flesh in and out of the warm sheath squeezing his cock. Instead, he began to fuck him slowly, just enough to keep himself from losing his mind; watching Reuben suck. When the boy let go of the nipple, his milky lips open to let out a groan, Jean took it away and turned his young lover onto his stomach, fucking him harder. Jean felt the boy's hips banging up into his groin like he couldn't get fucked hard enough and then Reuben almost froze in midthrust, crying out as he came. The sound and feel of Reuben coming so hard made his own climax a thousand times sweeter. Jean was addicted to this, the power rush as potent as a drug in intensifying the eruption of his own orgasm.