This is a Work in Progress, the grammar probably sucks. I have a tendency for run-on sentences. I’d like to know what you think, and if you’d be interested in reading more.
Anything can happen in Paris, that’s what Brandon Marshall told himself, as he sat drinking cappuccino in a cafe on a rainy afternoon. His eyes caught those of an attractive man in a business suit and he knew the trip would be an enjoyable excursion.
He’d arrived before the rest of his family. All had been planning the trip for months, for the wedding of his twin sister Bree. In a week, they’d all unite in a the Parisian countryside at the Dupuis home. But, until that time, he’d enjoy his personal vacation.
The man in the business suit approached his table, he stood looking down into Brandon’s eyes, his left hand had slipped deep into his pocket, Brandon stared, riveted to the cobalt blue eyes of the man, and then traveled down the crisp white dress shirt, over the Hermes belt to the growing tent in the man’s black slacks. Brandon’s pinkie fingertip reached to caress the fabric, and an energy sparked between the two.
The man’s other hand pulled out a wallet from his breast pocket, he’d deposited a bill on the table, his eyes rose as Brandon stood in a fluid movement and followed the man across the street to an apartment building.
He’d not been sure what came over him, except for the fact that the man was so forward. Once in the flat, the man spoke English tinged with the seductive French accent, and all Brandon could do was cover those succulent lips with his own. Hand moved down a muscular chest, his control lost to the large man under his hands. The love making was rushed, clumsy at first, then became one fluid movement, as Brandon was flipped on the bed and the French man made his decisions. Grunting, moaning, hands and tongues. It was full of carnal lust, it was secret and crazy and at the end, they made their introductions.
Brandon couldn’t believe his ears, the man had introduced himself as Hubert Dupuis, he pinched himself, he cried, he beat the man on the chest who took his hands within his own.
“No, it is not a lie, I am him. And you are so much like your sister, I wanted to enjoy both.” The smile was wicked, full of lust and desire. “Come back to bed Bran… It is one week and then we never look at each other the same.”
“It’s Brandon and how can you do this? How can I?” but the hands that had just caressed his chest, that would soon be caressing his sister, his twin sister. “I can’t. I have a mind to tell her, to make her call the entire thing off.”
Hubert slid his thick thumb between Brandon’s lips. “She knows I am bi-sexual, we discussed one last fling for me.”
Brandon had escaped the thumb prison. “Did you tell her it would be with her brother?”
He shook his head. “She told me you were coming a week early, I called your father, told him I wanted to take you for drinks, to get to know you better. But, then I saw you sitting there, when you turn your head, your hair reminded me of her, when you brought that coffee to your lips, I imagined her lips. I felt as one with her, inside you.”
Brandon sat on the edge of the bed, contemplating his misfortune, his lust and enjoyment of the large, strong man behind him on the bed. “I can’t do this.” Brandon hung his head, tears brimming in his eyes. He felt the warmth, before he felt the hands caress his shoulders. Felt the rough, working-man hands…
“I love your sister, but your body has me mesmerized, it is nothing like hers.”
Brandon’s smile was hidden. How could it feel so right, those rough hands massaging his shoulders, those warm lips pressed against his neck, he knew he’d regret this moment, and soon felt himself pulled back into the bed.
The lovemaking switched between rough, angry and intense, to slow, measured and delicate. It was one, two, three hours spent in and around the bed. They broke apart and ventured to the cafe across the street. They had bread, butter and more coffees.
What had begun as a quick fling on a rainy Sunday afternoon turned into a sunny Monday of rowing on the Seine, an afternoon lunch with wine and cheese and those lips gliding over Brandon’s body.
“She does not do this, or this…” Hubert’s lips traveled around Brandon’s nipple, down his chest, across his body to his hips. Hubert’s steady hand pulled the loose jeans down, where his mouth traveled further down Brandon’s smooth body.
Brandon tried not to smile and giggle, but he lost his battle with the lust he felt for the man exploring his body. He reached down to the head just below his waist, he grasped the hair and held him in place, enjoying the resistance. Deep in his heart, he thought he was a horrible brother, he felt as though he had destroyed his sister’s happiness, but then he heard the words echo in his ear, she knows I’m bisexual, she gave me this last fling before our wedding.
Brandon pushed the thoughts from his mind and focused on the man making his toes curl, and soon his breath burst out in hurried releases.
Monday ended with them arriving at Hubert’s apartment loaded with groceries, because Brandon revealed to Hubert his love of cooking.
“Then you’ll make me a fabulous supper this evening and simple breakfast in the morning.”
And so Tuesday arrived with an airy omelette of feta cheese, sun-dried tomatoes, and sizzling bacon. Brandon woke early to get a flower for Hubert, this was placed across the top of the tray that he served to his escape lover.
They’d spent hours talking before falling asleep in each others arms. The discussions ran the gamut from the state of finance in Paris to the best places for raspberry tarts. The television shows in America versus those in Europe. The language of love, lilting words that were fun to speak against one another’s chest. Sometimes Brandon begged to be told it was all a set up, a lie, but then Hubert’s lips would cover his mouth and his words would be lost to the luxuriousness of the kiss.
Sometime in the early evening, they decided to pick a neighborhood to walk through, to explore, they found a book store, where Brandon picked several of his favorite books and a first edition of Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking. Hubert gathered several books he wanted to share and read. As they wandered the streets, only once that day did the wedding talk happen, it was Wednesday, the week would end before they knew it and this time Brandon took control, he shoved Hubert against a crumbling brick wall, pressed hard, his lips pleading for him to stop, to only think of the rest of their week together. Mashed against that wall, they fell for each other all over again.
Hubert looked at his watch and pulled Brandon behind him, they slid in front of a place called Le Crazy Horse, he pulled his wallet out and paid for two. “This is a must see for anyone.”
They sat at a table and Brandon looked around him at the unusually large crowd of guests, all sorts of couples, business deals were being signed and a lesbian couple sat behind them, then the show began. Brandon giggled into his screwdriver, he couldn’t look at the women dancing on stage, fantastical shows with topless women. Women. He leaned over to shout into Hubert’s ear. “You know I’m gay right?” He turned back to his drink.
“Oui, but you can appreciate the form can you not?”
Brandon smiled awkwardly, “Yes, I can.”
And he did, because this made Hubert happy, in fact after three drinks he was beginning to get the feel for the show, he was getting hornier by the minute, he slid his chair closer to Hubert, who had slipped his own arm around Brandon’s shoulders.
His senses were heightened and he found him really digging the feel of the jeans that Hubert wore, his fingers circling the fabric, he explored over to the crotch, to Hubert’s growing hard-on, and even in this inebriated state, Brandon knew that he was only part of the reason his week long lover grew. It was the gorgeous bodies on the stage before them. Their seductive movements caused many a gasp around them. And he wondered if it would be too forward of him to give Hubert a hand job right there, his fingers snuck over to the zipper, no other hands stopped him, it was dark. He pulled down, Hubert turned his head to look first into Brandon’s eyes then down to watch the handy work below. He grinned and his attention went to the stage.
They could both tell that he was close, Hubert’s hand put a stop to the proceedings, he leaned over and whispered. “Oh, I do think we should make our way outside, and head home to take care of this and of you, young man.”
“Young man? I’m in my late twenteshies.”
“And you don’t hold your alcohol well.”
“I held it fine, itsh in my belly.” He finally gave up holding Hubert and placed both hands on his stomach. “But, I want you…again, and again.”
They couldn’t get up fast enough, Hubert shoved himself back inside, zipped up and they were out the door, hailing a cab and that was how they ended up sprawled on the bed for a lazy Thursday afternoon. They both slept long into the day, naked covered only in a thin white sheet. The day was spent reciting poetry. Brandon had gotten use to wandering around the apartment in nothing but socks. Creating simple platters of cheese, fruits, nuts, bread and butter along with a bottle of wine, they shared. Who needed glasses when you felt like this.
They’d reach down beside the bed, grab a book they purchased and read from a page in the book. Brandon’s were generally love poems from Pablo Neruda. He’d recite the Spanish and then follow it up with the English. Which generally was rewarded with kisses.
Hubert would grab at his pile and pull up a book on the French finance service, but when he read the words, Brandon was mesmerized and he wondered how the man could make arithmetic sound sexy, seductive and more often then not, he would attack the man before Hubert finished his paragraph.
They lay there laughing.
“You have not worked all week, Hubert, are you independently wealthy?”
“I am on vacation, but yes. My family has done very well.”
Brandon nodded and shook his head, “Well that explains why Bree pursued you. I mean, aside from this glorious body, these lips, these hands and what you can do with all of it.”
His finger lay in the book, the one poem he needed the man to hear, even if it fell on the ears of a man who he will promise to never do more than hug at a holiday event. Brandon knew that in a matter of days this love affair would be over and they’e never be able to touch again, aside from the familial hug or kiss on the cheek. He decided he’d write it on a card, and leave it for him. When he packed up and left. He hadn’t been to the hotel since that first day, when he’d arrived and chose to sit at that table outside, just under the awning. They’d been back there so many times in the preceding days.
Hubert slid over to rest his head in Brandon’s lap, he pulled the sheet down and slipped his mouth over the growing length. The book fell from his hands, the poem forgotten in the ecstasy. He pulled Hubert up to him, to leave kisses, and one request. “Will you let me take you?”
“I’ve been wanting that for days now, I want to remember everything about you and this.”
That was how Thursday progressed into the early hours of Friday. The rest of the day had been experimenting every way they could think, taking adventurous trips around each others’ body. Sucking, fucking, teasing and pleasing.
Brandon was the most aggressive he’d ever been with a partner, he thought later it was because he hated that he’d never be in this position again, not with this man, not feel him in this manner. It was a last fling for the man going off to get married, and yet with ever fiber of his being it caused him such distress, he found himself crying even as he came again and again. They showered together, scrubbed each other down.
He couldn’t remember who thought of it first, but both men agreed to the lock. Hubert dug through his junk drawer, finding the scarlet lock, they took turns scratching their names onto the back.
“Where’d you get this?”
“It was my lock I used at the gym. I never lost it.”
“We can buy you a new lock, it’ll be my parting gift to you.” Brandon sniffed and quickly laughed. Wasn’t it just a few days ago that he cried realizing who Hubert was, and here he was crying because they were walking away from each other.
“This way, you’ll always know my love for you is strong and locked in place, forever. I saw a couple doing it when I arrived. It’s really a beautiful thing.” They walked arm in arm to the bridge. Hubert took the key from his pocket, turned it in the lock. They both clicked it shut. They kissed after they locked it, Brandon placed his backpack on the ground between them, holding on to him. It was the first time, he’d seen Hubert cry. They were really broken.
“We should do this, or I’ll never leave you. You’ll have to keep me locked up in your basement, but I think Bree would find out eventually. I can’t do that to her. He pulled away first, clasped hands with Hubert. “We have to throw the key to seal the deal.”
They tossed it underhand, both of them and then leaned over to see that it was already gone. Brandon picked up the backpack, reached into the side pocket and pulled out the letter. “This is for you, please read it and destroy it, do not ever let Bree see it. Thank you for an amazing week. I know it can’t be love, we’ve only just met, but I will remember every minute spent with you.”
“Oui, I know what you mean. And I will and I won’t and yes…”
Then Brandon turned to walk away, laughing he turned back. “I guess I’ll see you in a couple days, but I will be pleased to meet you for the first time.” He waved, turned and walked to the hotel on the other side of the Seine.