Page 17 of Spread Your Wings
CHAPTER NINE
Sammy waited until they were seated side-by-side on the tube to ask the question bothering him since Bowie’s recital.
“Does Allah care about gay people dying from AIDS?”
Mustafa twisted in his seat so he could study Sammy’s face.
“How am I to know what Allah cares about?”
“But you believe?”
Mustafa sank against the bench seat, hanging his head. “I believe. Allah does not believe in me. Homosexuality is a sin in most religions, including mine. Including yours.”
“Fuck religion.”
“You’re angry at Bowie?”
Sammy nodded.
“He said a prayer.”
“The man writes songs for a living. You think he could write something heartfelt and meaningful for us, not say a prayer from a religion that condemns us.” His raised voice attracted several gazes to him across their tube car.
Two guys, who must have also been at the concert, raised their fists in salute.
The woman across from them shifted uncomfortably behind her newspaper.
Mustafa draped his arm over Sammy’s shoulder and rested against him. “The band seemed worried, like it wasn’t rehearsed. Maybe he didn’t plan to say anything, and the prayer was all he had in the moment.”
Sammy snuggled into Mustafa’s warmth. “It was poor timing and poor choice of words,” he mumbled against Mustafa’s plaid shirt.
“Does CNN have a concert review segment? You would be great at ripping artists to shreds.”
Sammy snuggled closer. “Maybe I’ll pitch the idea to them Wednesday morning.”
When they arrived at their hotel room, Sammy took the time to hang his jacket and backpack in the closet.
Then he headed to the bathroom to fill the tub.
His clothes smelled like smoke, both cigarette and reefer.
As much as he’d loved the concert experience, he needed to get it off his skin. He wanted to be clean for Mustafa.
Mustafa joined him in the bathroom as he waited for the tub to fill.
He took a leak and removed his clothes. First, the plaid shirt.
Then, the Queen T-shirt he’d bought at the stadium.
Shoes, jeans, underwear off. Mustafa stood before him, one leg slightly in front of the other, arms out to the sides, palms up.
Sammy had spent the afternoon and evening watching performers who exercised regularly.
Mustafa’s toned body turned him on more than anyone he’d ever seen, even his former crush, George Michael.
Sammy went to him, gliding his hands over the ridges of Mustafa’s hip bones. He rested his hands just above the roundness of his ass and kissed his collar bone. “Thanks for going with me.”
“Thank you for inviting me and offering the ticket.”
“I’m sorry you had to flee Sarajevo.” Sammy hugged Mustafa tighter. “What will you do in Atlanta?”
“Meet with the consulate to confirm my Visa. Start summer school. Find a job.”
“Where are you staying?”
“Vasily’s cousin will let me stay in her spare room. She lives close to Georgia State University, so I will start there.”
Stay with me. Sammy wanted to speak the words, but he wanted to do this right. He’d tell his mom, first. Then he’d deserve a lover, not a roommate.
The tub was big enough for both of them. They started out on opposite sides, Sammy’s feet between Mustafa’s knees. They shared a washcloth and the buttery soap. Sammy rose to his knees to work a soapy finger into his ass. “Getting clean for you.”
Mustafa laughed and leaned forward, dragging Sammy down on top of him in the cooling water.
Mustafa took the soap from him, lathered two of his fingers, and massaged the soap into his tight ring.
Sammy kissed Mustafa to stifle his own noises.
As good as Mustafa’s fingers felt, the soap burned.
He sighed when Mustafa removed his fingers and wiped the soap away with the washcloth.
“Let me make love to you tonight.” Mustafa’s voice was soft as he continued slow, circular strokes with the washcloth.
“Please.” Sammy didn’t care if it sounded like he was begging. He wanted Mustafa inside him.
“I want to see your face when you come, with me inside you.”
The words conjured the pornographic image in his head.
The night before, it had seemed too intimate, but tonight, so much had changed.
He needed to convince Mustafa to stay. He’d do whatever it took, but he also wanted the intimacy.
It no longer scared him. He needed to look Mustafa in the eye as they gave each other pleasure.
They dried off separately but came back together to walk to the bedroom, arms around each other’s waists.
Sammy couldn’t get enough Mustafa. He ran his fingers up Mustafa’s arms, to his stubbled cheeks, his chin, across his lips. Mustafa kissed his fingers, the soft touch setting Sammy’s skin aflame with desire. He wanted Mustafa’s body, his breath, his essence, his very being.
So this is love , he thought. He’d felt nothing like it.
He brushed Mustafa’s skin, a shade darker than his own.
He caressed from Mustafa’s rough hands to the soft skin on his inner arms and thighs.
After skin, he moved on to hair. From the thick hair on his head to the thick stubble on his chin, to the wiry hairs prickling from his chest, to the downy-soft thatch of pubic hair.
Sammy explored with his hands and his tongue, but it wasn’t enough.
He needed to feel as much skin-to-skin contact as possible.
He rubbed his body over Mustafa’s, learning every texture.
Mustafa did the same to him. He roamed everywhere, from the backs of Sammy’s ears to the crevices between his toes.
Mustafa kneaded along Sammy’s instep, up the backs of his legs.
The sensation would have tickled if anyone else had tried it.
Sammy trusted Mustafa with his pleasure, and every touch heightened his arousal.
Satisfied he’d touched every inch of Mustafa’s body, Sammy returned to lie on top of him. He stared into Mustafa’s eyes as they kissed. Gentle kisses became urgent. Sammy rolled onto his back, bringing Mustafa on top of him. He wrapped his legs around Mustafa to show him what he needed.
Mustafa kissed him again until they were both breathless and leaking precome.
“Tell me what you want,” Mustafa whispered between harsh breaths.
“You. I want you. Inside me. Now.”
Mustafa groaned. “Yes.”
Sammy missed the press of Mustafa’s body while he sheathed himself with a condom. Then he returned, lube coating his fingers. He prepared Sammy with the speed and ease of necessity. They both needed this as soon as possible.
Mustafa slid into him, watching his face, his every expression. Sammy winced at the burning pain but held Mustafa in place.
“It’s fine. Just need a moment.”
Mustafa nodded and continued to push inside, inch by inch, until their bodies met.
Sammy angled his hips, and motioned for Mustafa to come closer, to lie on top of him.
Sammy needed the touch of Mustafa’s skin, the feel of his cock seated so deep inside.
He didn’t want to lose Mustafa to the world.
He knew it was selfish, but he needed Mustafa to stay with him. He didn’t want to let go.
Mustafa moved inside him. Sammy arched against him, flexing into each stroke across his prostate. Already, his nerve endings ached for release. He felt his orgasm building at the base of his spine, too soon. He needed more time to show Mustafa how cherished he was. How loved he was.
Mustafa grabbed Sammy’s ass, holding him in place as he pegged his prostate.
Sammy tried, but he couldn’t fight the pleasure coursing through him.
He came with Mustafa’s name on his tongue as he continued to pump his hips, milking Mustafa’s orgasm.
Mustafa grunted his name as his hips stuttered before he went rigid.
“My Sammy. I love you, Sammy.”
“I love you more.”
“Prove it.”
Sammy laughed. “I came first.”
Mustafa frowned. “Of course, you did. You think I’d come and leave you hanging?”
Sammy shook his head. “You’re the first who hasn’t.”
“You’ve been fucking the wrong people.”
“Understatement of the year.”
Mustafa looked sad as he rolled off Sammy, holding the condom.
“What’s wrong?”
Mustafa shook his head. “Not tonight. Nothing is wrong tonight.”
Sammy frowned, but he didn’t pry. Something weighed heavily on Mustafa’s mind as they got ready for bed.
They cleaned up and dressed in their pajamas.
Despite Sammy’s wish for round two, he could tell Mustafa’s heart wasn’t in it.
They climbed into bed on opposite sides, meeting in the middle, but Sammy felt like they were worlds apart.