Chains and Whips

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Her eyes were glazed over as he held her, a trickle of sweat gliding into the voluptuous mounds of her breasts and her breath hitched as his damp mouth found her rapid pulse. He sucked it and she moaned, her fingernails digging into the flesh of his bicep.

"Oh," she groaned and he hitched her leg over his hip and rhythmically ground against her front. Her nipples pebbled and she bit her full lower lip to contain a shriek. "Oh, Gideon," she murmured. He parted the fabric of her navy plaid skirt and his hand slid deeper into the cavern that awaited...

"And cut! Thanks, guys. We'll run act four tomorrow. Very realistic. Good job." Tyler Flack smiled and saluted his two leads,grabbing his knitted cardigan.

 A faint odour of cannabis clung to the fibers of his sweater.  He smiled again and he gave Christopher an appreciative glance. Tall, so very tall, with broad shoulders and a narrow, lean waist. His torso was littered with ink; tribal swirls and cursive lyrics and a pistol in its holster, he had arrows and locks and numbers all meaning something to him, nothing to the world. He had Marilyn Monroe in all her glory, her legs spread wantonly on his shoulder blades, on his chest were paw prints and the hard ridges of his abdomen were covered in small stars all covering little blemishes- bulletholes and battlescars- and he had numeral flags on his forearms; Brazil stretching over his wrist. His tousled bronze hair that curled in his nape and purplish, violet eyes that were rimmed with kohl and framed by thick, sooty lashes added to the almost feminine beauty of Christopher Kidd.

His companion, Beatrice, was pulling up her tube top as she talked to a stricken, uncomfortable looking Christopher about her two year old and his antics. He looked pained by the proximity.

"He needs a strong male figure in his life and I just think..."

"Fuck off, Beatrice." he snarled and she blinked, confusion washing over her beautiful face; the face of Rimmel, the iconic London Look made famous by the gap-toothed beauty with the too long cornsilk hair  from Hampshire.

She then pouted and flicked the thin strands of coiled hair over her bony shoulder.

"Bastard," she muttered, and patted the front pockets of her jeans for a cigarette.

Christopher sighed exasperated and slung his maroon leather jacket over his shoulder and jangled his keys.

"I'm off," he said to no one in particular and left the drafty theatre.

 It was sundown when he sauntered over to his navy Mustang that glinted in the setting Los Angeles sun, it's cream leather interior contrasting beautifully with the sleek lines of the  luxurious car: a generous gift from a politician with a fondness for out of work-actors, meth and a riding crop. Everyone that passed him threw an appreciative glance at his car and then another at him; envy, lust, desire, a tinge of fear, attraction and wariness were written on their faces.  Los Angeles in all her splendid,bustling beauty had never felt so alone to him.

                                                                                  XXXXX

"You going out tonight?" Otis asked softly, placing a gentle, but possessive hand on the warm, smooth toffee-coloured skin of Christopher's hip and he sighed contently, the matress creaking slightly uinder their combined weight.

His hand travelled under the Egyptian cotton sheets that were draped over Christopher's lower body and found heaven. Christopher sucked in a breath as Otis touched him under the covers and he gulped loudly, loathing for himself rising up as bile in his throat. He jerked away and stood upright, his strong, firm body glistening with droplets of sweat and he glared at a smiling Otis; his handsome face reminding Christopher of a viking; Thor or even Hercules. His muscled body bulged from beneath the sanctuary of the coverlet that was covering a very naked, very aroused Otis. Christopher's gaze travelled over his friend, appreciating his attractiveness and also being aroused by it, yet feeling oddly indifferent-not in the mood for his hulking body. He craved something different tonight. Something smaller, curvaceous. Feminine. Something he could bully, destroy and then nurse.

 "Yeah, I just might," Christopher replied, stooping to pick up his pants and slipping them on. He craved a woman.

It's a fucking miracle.

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